EA. FOREST AND PRAIRIE: BEING S STORIES OF LIFE AND ADVENTURE IN CANADA PAST AND PRESENT, BY BOYS AND GIRLS IN CANADA’S SCHOOLS.
MONTREAL, John Dougall and Son, “Witness” Office. 1893.
Printed from Linotypes at the “Witness” Print- ing House, 323, 325 and 327, St. James street, Montreal.
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7 CONTENTS. 4 Page. 7 meee? A. Tide Story iiss eck cles c. 9 E: Loss of the “Blue Jacket” ................ 1? 3 CULES: ate See marge eee ee 21 q Be UG eae ctay a dev een cinta ay te pete. o 2 d Trowblous Timed cies eee lee ecn ook, 36 a ley Adventure, Al osc kicecdsoivecccc. cs. 42 WANE OF AOUNO Cece icaseavagaces co. 49 Tragedy of the Avon .i.....cscs.0c5,,,, 51 The Woods and the Sea Have Ruined Me 57 : Donald Macdonald, The Rev. ............ 63 ' eel TGMt EMG isis basen) codes ec 71 4 Terrible Night on the Ice ............... 72 : Loyalist Times, A Story of the .......... 77 | Indian Reminiscences .................... 84 | Adventure on the Ice ................... 90 : Siege of the Fort of St. SOMME iil 97 : Raid on the St. Francis Indians ........... 99 : An Every Day Hero 06. ck sie cce coc c, 104 Extinction of a Nation ...........0.5.... 109 Plomeer Lite, Tales Of 0) css cisco cece. 113 PANE GRP soe yb cia dee ceca pce: 120 Battle of Moore’s Corners ................ 126 Ploneers of Glomgatry. oo. 6ss cc ccccs es .. 32
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Contents.
MEAG! Wiehe nea atone us bee cake Brave Laura Secord. ...ccc ccs nendeneneee Grandfather’s Indian Visitors Hero of Cedardale .......cscseeeces Historic House, An ......... Past ltr RCAVNE cock vnccakere eee relent ns Eagle and Salmon Trout ... ......5.. Last Duel Fought in Canada ...........05. Incident in the Patriot’s War ...........+.. Noble Life, Ao .k.ue cers Settee Unive AK Laer Defence of Boyne Water, The ............ Two Nights in the Bush ..........c cence Haunted House, The occ: ecsnccnceen ces Two Plncky Gillen s54 ceo betewucesn TGOUMTIRGUL ct ecard dseeiiceh: ere eur, tan Bone seers undye Danie, On ae iicre ee ivan cei Two: Devoted Brothers ...0.. 005.6000 0805 Devils Mortgage PRE wha ssieen ses wees ROAM CP Re ding erie tee nr aveod.e sree prec eens Left on the Prairie in a Blizzard .......... WhOtheriegs StH: icc cues nine heen bee es Manitoba’s Homesteaders, One of ......... Browirre “Leet hat cian cas eure e peoc ns SG COLIN COU hr adaka er be cba eRe pete wee An Adventure of John Tod ..........
An Adventure in Caribou ................
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INTRODUCTION.
On three succeeding years the school children of Canada wrote original stories for the Montreal “Wit- ness", basing them on events which had happened in the country. These were judged by well known eda- cationists, who awarded them prizes by counties and provinces, and the best in each province was submitted to a Dominion judge, who gave the palm to the best in the Dominion. The gentlemen who judged the stories in the first place were S. E. Dawson, Esq., D. Lit., Montreal, Que.; the Rev. Charles J. Cameron, A.M., F.H.S., Brockville, Ont.; Wm. Houston, M.A,, Toronto, Ont.; J. M. Harper, M.A,, Ph.D., F.E.LS,, Quebec, Que; Mr. Justice Alley, Charlottetown, P.E.L.; A. A. Stockton, M.P.P., Ph.D,, D.C.L., LL.D., St. John, N.B.; Prof. Charles G. D, Roberts, A.M, I.R.S.C., King’s College, Windsor, N.S.; W. H. Hus- ton, M.A., Woodstock, Ont.; J. A, Nicholson, M.A., Charlottetown, P.E.I.; Dr. J. Hall, Truro, N.S. The judges who awarded the Dominion prizes were the Marquis of Lorne for the first competition and the Marquis of Dufferin and Ava for the second and third competitions. In all nearly 5,000 stories were re- ceived and carefully judged. Many of these were pub-
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lished in the “Witness” and republished in local news- papers, where they were specially interesting, and not a few came back to Canada in publications from foreign countries.
The winners of the Dominion prizes were Miss May Selby Holden, of St. John’s, Newfoundland, for the first competition, and Miss Maude Saunders, of Lau- rencetown, Nova Scotia, for the second and third com- petitions.
The task of editing these stories soasto form a little commemorative volume was given to the Rev. Charles J. Cameron, A.M., F.H.S., whose work, or, more cor- rectly speaking, a pcrtion of whose work, lies before the reader. Mr. Cameron does not claim to have se- lected the best stories, but rather stories representative
the different provinces. A fair proportion of these are now published for the first time. These stories are presented to the public as a fair exponent of the literary powers of young Canada.
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ADELE: A TRUE STORY. Chapter I.
Placentia stands in some respects unrivalled among the towns of Newfoundland. It was the ancient capital and the scene of many a skirmish between the English and French. The town and outworks contain many and interesting relics of former glory. Placentia is situ- ated in a lovely bay, at the base of a high hill, and is readily suggestive of a pretty Swiss town, with cottages diversified by bright gardens and sunny spots of green- ery. The aspect of things has somewhat changed since the time of which I shall speak in the following narra- tive. The beautiful scenery, however, remains un- changed, and the picturesque harbor is as calmly bright as of yore,
On a certain July day in the year 1692, the French town of Placentia, usually so peacefully quiet, seemed suddenly to have become the centre of confusion and excitement. The streets were thronged by crowds of men and women of many gradations of rank, a pictur- esque, ever-shifting crowd, seemingly bent on some im- portant mission. The thing which has disturbed the even tener of the townspeople may be explained ina few words, or, better still, by repeating the conversation which took place on that day between two officers who stood at the gate of the monastery. The taller and
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Io Sea, Forest and Prairie.
older of the men was the commander of the garrison, Captain Devoux. He was a dark-browed, haughty man, handsome but for the sinister cast of his features and a cruel expression about the mouth. He spoke to a young lI‘rench officer whose frank face was lighted up with enthusiasm, listening as his superior officer ex- claimed, “Yes, Arnoud, it is quite true; while riding from the Block House I received a despatch informing me of the expected arrival of Commodore Williams to Newfoundland with a fleet sent from England with spe- cial instructions to take Placentia. “And,” concluded the Captain, “as the enemy will be here in forty-eight hours, our work is to barricade the streets and get the soldiers ready.” hen, in a lower tone, he continued to converse with the young officer, who was all atten- tion until his eyes rested on the figure of a lady walking towards them, when he exclaimed, “Pardon, Captain, but here comes my wife. I suspect she is wondering what has kept me from dinner.” Then, in an anxious tone, “You must tell her, but be careful. She is not strong and a little unnerves her.”
The Captain nodded, and a curious light flashed in his eyes as he stepped forward, and, bowing low to Er- nest Arnoud’s wife, said: “Pardon me, Madame, for detaining Monsieur from his charming house, but neces- sity compelled me to discuss with him the important in- formation just received.” Madame Arnoud stood by her husband’s side. She was young and sprightly, and very lovely did she look as she gazed inquiringly into the face of the young officer, who, in turn, glanced sig- nificantly at his superior. The Captain interpreted the glance. “Dear Madame, do not be alarmed, but we
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Adele: A True Story, II
have had news of the coming of the English, and that means we shall have to stand a siege. The chief diffi- culty has been to find a suitable officer to take charge of Fort Louis.”
All this time the young wife’s face was looking white and scared, for she dreaded danger for the husband whom she adored, But he passed his arm round her waist as the Captain proceeded, “I am sorry yet proud to tell you, Madame, that your husband has promised to take command of Fort Louis!” “Is this true, Er- nest ?” cried the poor girl, in an agony of entreaty. Well she knew what such an undertaking ineant. Fort Louis was a strong fortification just outside the entrance to the harbor, and as this would form the first and chief point of attack it would fare ill with the gallant few who defended it. Captain Devoux, looking at the sweet face of the officer’s wife, said, in a strange tone, “Well, Arnoud, it is not too late yet to withdraw from the post—” But he was interrupted by the officer, who, drawing himself up proudly, replied, “I am a soldier, sir, and as such know my duty.” ~So saying and clasp- ing the trembling hand of his young wife, Ernest Ar- noud passed quickly down the sireet to his home. Captain Devoux looked after the couple with an evil
expression as he muttered, “Ere two more suns have set I may be the winner.”
Chapter IT.
During his year of married life Ernest Arnoud had enjoyed that pure and unalloyed happiness which can
only exist where there is a union of hearts as well as hands.
12 Sea, Forest and Prairie.
The evening before the important event of the arrival of the English Commodore our young officer was en- joying the evening air outside the door of his pretty home. He had had a hard day’s work in preparing Fort Louis, and could well appreciate the pleasures of home comforts. He was speaking to his wife and his voice sounded very tender, as he said, “Adele, my dear- est, you must bear up bravely for my sake. I have only a few hours left, and then I must take up my sta- tion at the Fort. If the enemy come before daylight I have no fear as to the result. We have stretched a boom across the harbor which will effectually bar their progress.” “Ernest,” replied his wife, “for your sake I am brave, but I have a morbid feeling that Captain Devoux is not the friend to you that he pretends. “Adele,” gravely remarked the officer, “you must re- member that the Captain is an old friend of your father, and when we all lived in sunny France how generously he behaved to us. I loved you and you returned my love, though your father wished you to marry Devoux, and I am sure that he loved you truly. How nobly he gave you to me when he found you did not care for him! However,” concluded the officer, “let us dis- miss this subject and forget the disagreeables.”” Ernest Arnoud would not have been so calm could he have overheard a conversation just then taking place at the lodgings of Captain Devoux. That gentleman was standing with his back to the window and facing him was a man, a soldier, seemingly of Esquimault origin, judging from his scanty hair and narrow forehead. The words which the Captain was saying were these : “Look here, Gilo, I have been a good friend to you,
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Adele: A True Story. 13
and if you do this job well I'll not forget you.” “Ay, ay, sir,” was the answer he received. “Well, then, there is a certain officer taking charge of Fort Louis ; the fray will be over by daylight to-morrow, whether successful or otherwise. That officer I do not wish to return from his post alive.” The man addressed exhibited not a particle of surprise at this diabolical speech, but simply nodded. The Captain proceeded: “That officer will be returning home when the affray is over. He will walk to the point, where his small boat will be awaiting him, as his custom is to row himself home. I want you to take that boat in hand and see that he never returns to this town. Watch him to-night at twelve o’clock when he goes on duty. The rest can be managed with an auver. You understand ? It is not your first job of the kind.” So, roughly dismissing his attendant,
the gallant Captain resigned himself to a comfortable smoke.
Chapter III.
Night drew its curtains over the little town of Pla- centia. A bright moon rose high in the heavens, tip- ping the spires of the old monastery with silver and pouring a flood of light upon the dwellings of a thou- sand inhabitants. There was no sleep for Arnoud that night. He held a high position —: trust and no doubt entered his breast of the treacherous object of his com- mander in placing him there.
Ai two o’clock the word was passed along that the enemy was in sight, and there, sure enough, was the English fleet sailing slowly into the roadstead. They anchored noiselessly, except the foremost, which made
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14 Sea, Forest and Prairie.
a dash for the entrance, but striking the boom stretched across the harbor she rebounded and stuck in the mud. Then commenced a brisk cannonade, which was _ re- turned with vigor from the three forts, but especially from Fort Louis. In about three hours Commodore Williams, finding it no joke to attack three well-armed forts with the small force he had under his command, retreated from the scene of action with the Placentia joy-bells ringing in his ears answered by the thunder- ing guns from the garrison. “Well,” sighed our young officer, as he descended the hill from Fort Louis, “it is over, and so peacefully that I cannot believe we have been attacked by the English and have repulsed them without the loss of even a single soldier. Thank God, thought he, I am at liberty to return and relieve the anx- iety of my dear one.” Thinking thus, he crossed the narrow beach to where his little boat lay on the sands. And poor Adele, what a night she spent! Only the angels in Heaven know the amount of suffering which many women silently endure, or what nights of cease- less agony are passed over uncomplainingly. Men go forth into danger, but, perforce, they are in the midst of excitement, and time flies with them till they return to those who have waited so wearily during the lagging hours. It was wearily indeed that Adele Arnoud wait- ed for her husband during all that day following the siege. Until the evening she had been waiting, expect- ing him, and thinking he was with the commander, but on sending her servant to enquire she heard that the young officer had not been seen since the morning, when one of the soldiers saw him dimly in the morning light walking down from the Fort. When this news
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Adele: A True Story. 15
was brought to the poor young wife she uttered no sound but simply sat like one stunned. Her pale, de- spairing face and sad eyes aroused mutch pity from those around her, but she would take comfort from none. That some evil had come to her husband she was sure, but though the strictest search was made no tidings of him could be found. Captain Devoux called at Ar- noud’s cottage to offer his sympathy to the grief- stricken wife, but she refused to see him. On the third evening, as she paced the apartments with hands clasped and eves cast down, she sighed, “Oh ! merciful heaven, deliver me from this dreadful suspense.” She felt that soon she must give way if something were not done. Every nerve in her body seemed strained to its utmost tension. Each and every sound startled her. At last, unable any longer to bear the monotony, she caught up a shawl, and, opening the door, she was about to run down the lawn. Hark, a step in the gravel and in a moment a man stands before her. Is she dreaming ? No, thank God, it is a blessed reality, she is clasped in her husband’s arms. She remembers no more till she opens her eyes and finds herself in her own bed, her husband bending over her. She is about to speak when the young officer stops her by saying, “My dear wife, you must not tire yourself by talking, but lie still and listen to me. You see I am still in the land of the living, but, my darling, you came near never seeing your husband again. When I left the Fort that morn- ing, just before daylight, I made my way quickly to the place where I had left my boat. As usual, I pushed quickly off and was about in the middle of the stream when, to my surprise, I found my feet in the water.
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16 Sea, Forest and Prairie.
Horror-stricken, I stood up, only to find my boat sink- ing rapidly. Quick as thought, I got off most off my clothing, and in about two minutes I found myself in the strong tide being carried out to sea. You know I am a good swimmer, but I soon became exhausted, and though I managed to reach the land just as I touched the shore I lost consciousness. I remained all day in an unconscious state. This I learned from an old fish- erman, who took me into Freshwater and kept me all night. Yesterday, as soon as I recovered, I at once started for home, and here I am, my darling, thankful that things are not any worse.” His wife made no re- ply, but clasped her arms around her husband’s neck and hid her happy face on his breast. Thus ended what was near being a tragedy in the lives of a devoted couple. Neither Arnoud nor his wife ever had the faintest suspicion of the foul treachery of Captain De- voux. Shortly afterwards they returned to the sunny land of France, and never afterwards beheld the face of him who had so nearly destroyed the life of one and the happiness of the other.
MAY SELBY HOLDEN.
St. John’s, Newfoundland.
LOSS OF THE “BLUE JACKET.”
I think that one of the earliest things I can remember is hearing my father tell of the burning of a packet steamer called the “Blue Jacket,” and how they saved an old lady named Mrs. Foley from the terrible death of burning. It was on a frosty night, one winter’s eve, as we drew our chairs around the fireside, and said : “Now, dear father, tell us again about the time the ‘Blue Jacket’ was burnt.”
“Why, now, my children, aren’t you tired of hearing me relate that story. I really thought you had it learnt by this time off by heart. But since it appears not, and you are anxious to hear it again, I will relate it to you.
“Well, here it is :—In the year 1862, ‘.:fore either of you were born, your uncles, Stephen, Henry and Josiah (brcthers) and an old man named Will Smith and my- self, set out one September’s morning for Kelley’s Is- land. As you know, it’s just twelve miles from here. We arrived there early in the morning for the purpose of cutting wood and anchored in a bight called Martin’s Cove, for protection from a strong wind that was blowing from the W.N.W. After being there about two hours we saw a steamer near Brigus, which proved to be the “Blue Jacket,” apparently on fire, and in a helpless condition, driving down towards the island on which we were. While looking at her we perceived a boat leaving her side and making its way towards us.
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18 Sea, Forest and Prairie.
On seeing this we all hastened to the beach which she was approaching, and by the time we arrived there the boat was in. We found then, for a certainty, that the burning boat was the “Blue Jacket,’ which used to carry the mails and passengers between Portugal Cove and the various settlements on the north side of Concep- tion Bay. We were in hopes that all the passengers were in the boat, but what was our dismay to hear from those who landed that an old lady belonging to Brigus and the engineer were still on board the burning steamer. We thought it was a dreadful thing for those so-called gentlemen to leave a poor old woman in the ship when there was plenty of room in the boat. Now, there were a number of fishing-boats all anchored in Martin’s Cove, and all of them were larger than ours. So we were in hopes that some of the larger ones would volunteer to go to the rescue of the old lady and the engineer, for we were awfully afraid that our boat was not capable of contending with such a breeze ; but no, no one would volunteer to go to the rescue. So we consented to make a trial, though it were at our life’s risk. We told the man Will to bale out the water, as it was beginning to come over our boat in showers. Henry was at the helm, and Stephen was at the sheets minding the sails. They told me to stand on the fore- cuddy with a rope to cast to the old woman, for, sad to relate, the poor engineer by this time had to jump over- board because of the intense heat, and was drowned. We didn’t care to go too near the burning steamer, as our sails were newly tarred, and we knew that just one spark would set us on fire. We tried our best to reach her before she would drive on the rocks where the sea
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Loss of the “Blue Jacket.” 19
was raging. When we approached near we saw the poor old woman as far out on the jib-boom as she could get, to save herself from being burned. I shall never forget that sight. Her bonnet was hanging down her back, and her white hair was being blown about her shoulders. She had on, happily, a large cloak, which shielded her from being scorched. She was screaming and clapping her hands in a despairing mood. When we were near enough I threw the rope to the old lady, and it went around her several times. I then sang out to her to let go, which she did, and came down and caught in the bob stay. We were now running before the wind, so I slacked out, thirty fathoms of line being the length of it, and held on to the end of it, and down went the poor old lady into the water. We imme- diately hauled away on the line to get her on board, and during this time we fell under the bow of the steamer. There was no time to be lost ; so when we got her on board we gave her in charge of Will, and had to hoist the sails for dear life, as we were falling in on the rocks and breakers. Just as we had the old lady on board, the steamer struck on the rocks, her head fell away by the wind, and the flames wreathed all parts of
her. The poor old lady lay on the deck of the boat
quite unconscious of what followed after. After we
reached the Cove and had made a fire on the beach, and after using every means we could think of, she at last rallied and came to. It was then that she told us how the engineer had jumped overboard with a life-buoy, and had also given her one, telling her it was best for her to jump after him. She told him that a boat was coming, but he replied that he could not stand the heat
20 Sea, Forest and Prairie.
any longer; so the poor fellow jumped and was drowned. When we arrived at the Cove we learnt that the captain of the steamer had given twenty dollars to a boat’s crew to take him to Portugal Cove on the other side, so as to enable him to reach St. John’s. On hear- ing of the engineer having jumped overboard we in- stantly went out again, thinking to find him on the life buoy, but no sign of him could be seen. When we came back the second time we took the old lady to a house a mile from W., where we landed, and when she was able to talk she told us that she was a Mrs. Foley belonging to Brigus. The wind kept us on the island three days, and when the storm abated we took her on our boat again and landed her at Brigus. Strange to relate a boat from Brigus was on the island, but she re- fused to go with anyone but us, and said she would not leave the island if we did not take her. So we had to take her to her home. It was just like the dead raised, for the captain who went to St. John’s telegraphed to Brigus that Mrs. Foley was lost in the “Blue Jacket.” This is a true story ; the old lady is still living, and often tells of the catastrophe, and the narrow escape she had from so melancholy a fate. She is now over go years of age, but, sad to say, is blind. As a recompense for our heroic deed we received from Government the sum of one hundred dollars. The names of the rescu- ers are respectively Messrs. Stephen Gosse (teacher), Josiah Gosse, Henry Gosse (Harbor Grace), and Wil- liam Smith (Bishop’s Cove).
ALBERTA GOSSE.
Spaniard’s Bay, Newfoundland.
A SHIPWRECK.
On Christmas Day, 1850, the “Niobe,” with a crew of eight persons, under the command of Captain Robinson, set sail from Leghorn, with a gentle breeze, bound for Cadiz. Arriving there, we took in our cargo, which consisted chiefly of salt, and on January 14th received orders to go to Newfoundland. Accordingly, the next morning we set sail, with a fair wind and every prospect of making a quick trip.
We sighted land on the evening of February 29th, after having encountered a very severe storm in cross- ing the Atlantic. The next morning [ ascended the maintop, and the first thing that met my view was a light. I instantly called the captain, who said that it was the light on Cape Spear (Newfoundland).
He then ordered our sails to be set, the vessel to be steered north by east, and entertained us with the bright hope that we should, ere long, be at Catalina.
About sunset, as we passed Bacalieu, things began to assume a different aspect. The wind, instantly changing, began to blow violently. In the meantime the snow was falling so thickly that we could scarcely see the jib-boom.
We then received orders to close-reef, clear the decks —as everything gave evidence that a storm was fast ap- proaching. Ina short time the wind nad risen to a per- fect gale.
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22 Sea, Forest and Prairie.
As soon as we had the sails reefed I was walking for- ward when I met the captain, who told me to go and take the helm, as he had altered the course for Catalina and was now going to Trinity.
The vessel being now close-reefed every man was on the watch, looking out for land. We were scudding at arapid rate when I happened to glance toward the head of the vessel, where everything appeared to look dark. I called out to the captain and asked him if that was land ahead. At the same moment “Starboard the helm and bring her to” rang from the lips of the half- frantic captain. “I see land all around us. We are lost! Weare lost !” he again shouted. Each one ina moment realized his fate. Iwas at the helm. I held it till she struck, which carried away all the foremost part. I then let it go, and threw off both my coats. The ves- sel by this time had receded a little with the sea, but only to be precipitated with greater force against the cliff, carrying away the taffrail with the shock.
Now a very pathetic scene presented itself. Men who, but a few hours before, were even cursing God and their existence, could now be seen crying to God for mercy.
Meanwhile, the undercurrent had swept the vessel out into the middle of the cove. While she was staying in that condition I managed to cut the ropes which bound the jolly-boat to the ship’s side. The mate and three others went below to die. The captain, Billy, George and myself stood out for life. About the hardest thing that ever I endured was to hear poor little Billy scream- ing, and asking me to save him.
George and I then went aft to get a block ready to hoist the jolly-boat on the outer side. Just as we had
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A Shipwreck. 23
it ready, and were almost down, the vessel came in with such a crash as broke the foremast off, and both of us fell to the deck, having narrowly escaped being killed. At this moment a tremendous sea broke over us, caus- ing them that were under to rush on deck. Just as we had the boat ready and all were on board except myself, who was holding the painter, another sea came, which swept the jolly-boat across the ship, turning her bottom up, and throwing all of us into the water.
As I was being tossed about on the waves I felt my back touch something. I seized it, turned over, and got my head above water. In a moment, although al- most unconscious, I realized my situation. I climbed to the top of the mast, and when the vessel touched the cliff again I jumped and caught hold of a shiver with my fingers. In that manner I remained hanging, till J found a place to rest my feet.
Imagine my position, gentle reader, if you can: In the middle of the night, dripping with wet and half-be- numbed with the cold, holding on to a shiver of a per- pendicular cliff several hundred feet in height with my fingers, and a narrow ledge about four inches wide to rest my feet on. Below me were the warring waves, dashing with united fury against the cliff, and at times would run so high as almost to wash me away.
While I was holding on in this manner I heard the vessel coming in again, and by inclining my body a lit- tle to the left I saved my life, which would have been lost by a stroke from the masthead. A tremendous sea then came and broke with such fury over me that I al- most fell a victim to it. As I was trying to wipe the water from my eyes I heard the vessel coming in again;
SSR ee
24 Sea, Forest and Prairie.
and while I was thinking whether I would be killed this time or not I heard somebody coming up the rigging. In a few moments I found it was my friend George. As soon as the vessel touched again he jumped, and, as hap- pened, a little way beyond me. I soon made myself known to him. He then told me that all the crew were lost. I told him that I would soon be gone too, as I could not hold out much longer. He then told me that I must try and get up where he was, as he did not need to hold on at all, but had a large shelf to rest on.
As we were speaking, we heard another person com- ing up the rigging. I told George to keep a good look- out for him, and take his cravat, if he had one, and throw to him. George tried to cheer him, and kept swinging his cravat to him. At last he caught the cra- vat and jumped, but, alas! owing to his clothes being wet he was so heavy that he could not jump far enough, but remained hanging, George not being strong enough to pull him up. Oh, how I wished I was there to help him. At length the cravat began to stretch till the last thread gave way, and the poor fellow fell into the surg- ing waters below.
All that we then heard was the howling of the winds, the roaring of the waves, and the vessel beating against the cliff. It seemed to me the longest night I ever spent on earth. In the morning I could scarcely hold on. My friend then told me that he had a ball of spun- yarn in his pocket. He got it ready, threw it to me, holding one end in his hand. Then, thinking that I would be too heavy, I managed to slip off my boots and pants, and, by God’s inielp and my own, I got up all right.
We felt thankful to be together again, although the
ee CaP See Fee tec aa oan ee Dati ect a A a yt ee
[NY cr —_
lled this rigging. rge. As , as hap- 2 myself ew were 00, as I told me did not ‘est on.
on com- od look- one, and ind kept the cra- es being enough, r enough e to help 1 the last he surg-
e winds, x against t I ever rely hold of spun- t to me, g that I oots and all right. ugh the
a im i + 4, * %
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BRS RR BREESE SO 15 os vie
A Shipwreck. 2
cn
worst had not then come. The night was piercing cold, and [ had hardly any clothing on. The next two davs and nights we managed to keep in good spirits, but, as we saw no way of deliverance, things began to look gloomy, and my comrade, getting so discouraged, laid himself down to die. It was a hard time with me. I held him on my arm for the next three days and nights, blowing my breath to his heart. He talked much of his friends having plenty, and he without any- thing. Once in the night I heard him exclaim, “Cook, give me something to eat, or I'll tell the captain on you.” I shook him, and when I got him a little sen- sible I tried to impress the idea on him that the captain and cook were lost, that we were in the cliff, and that I had no food to give him. He was deathly pale, and told me that he was going to die. “George,” said I, “if you die I'll eat you.” “ O John,” he exclaimed, “ for God's sake don’t eat me.” With that thought stamped on his mind he kept alive till daybreak, and, thank God, it was the last daybreak we saw in that miserable abode. All that night I was trying to think of some way of escape. When the sun had risen I lifted him from my arm, and told him that I was going to leave him. “O John,” said he, “don’t leave; don’t leave me.” I took a last look, as I thought, at him, and then left him.
When I had got a little way beyond him my hands began to fail me. I looked at them and found that they were frozen. I felt as if I could hold on no longer. So I got my chin to rest on a shiver, and in that man- ner bore the weight of my body for some minutes. On my right, a few feet from me, I saw a place that, if I got there, I could rest as long as I chose. I asked God to
Cc
Desreees rigs
Se eR ee eS vases EP on
26 Sea, Forest and Prairie.
help me, and, after a great difficulty, I succeeded. Then 4 I sat down and began to think. I knew I would not be able to climb any more, for my hands were severely frost-bitten. I put them in my armpits and began tu squeeze them, mcaning bitterly. 4
While I was busy watching my eye was directed to a dark object, which appeared to move. In a very short P time I found that it was a boat. It had been on the search for seals, and through a suggestion from one of the crew, determined to row around the shore on their | way home. ;
Fearing that we should be passed unobserved I be- gan shouting at the top of my voice. Being attracted by the sound the little boy on board began to look in all directions. It was not long before he saw me, and told his father that up in the cliff he could see an owl and hear it screeching.
To satisfy the boy’s curiosity the boat’s head was turned directly towards the spot. In a short time all
| their doubts had disappeared, for they could see, and
| hear me shouting. After explaining the matter to them, they left us to get assistance. They soon re- turned, however, and in a comparatively short time we were taken down and carried to comfortable quarters, where, under careful nursing, we remained for some time.
Space would not permit me to enter into the details of the story. Suffice to say, that, after three weeks, with my hands partly well, I left for home, leaving my friend with both legs amputated. From our parting then we
have never seen nor heard from each other since. iil W. PERCIVAL WAY. Bonavista, Nfld.
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“BY FIRE.” Chapter I.
The golden rays of the setting sun are casting their brightness over the beautiful sheet of water known as Annapolis basin, leaving a mass of crimson clouds in the west. <A great deal of history is connected with these waters in the pioneer days of Nova Scotia. How much of carnage and bloodshed have been enacted on their now peaceful bosom! The ancient capital, Anna- polis Royal, named in honor of the good Queen Anne, looks every inch a bustling seaport town. The old fort stands untenanted, a reminder of rebellious scenes in the early settlement of this fair “land of the Mayflower.” Not yet has the shriek of the iron horse been heard in the picturesque Annapolis Valley, rousing the inhabi- tants to greater energy and enterprise ; but in this year,
1846, it was whispered about that these things were to °
be that have since taken place.
On the south or Granville side of the blue basin the trees bend down to the water’s edge, and on a fair situ- ation stands a handsome cottage house, gleaming white through the foliage. Surrounding it is a well-kept lawn, and an air of comfort pervades the whole.
Just now, a child of about ten summers, the bright- ness of the western sky shining on her golden curls, stands motionless among the flowers that line the front
oo mone noe r
28 Sea, Forest and Prairie.
walk, gazing silently and half sadly out upon the basin, and wondering, as some white-sailed ships drop anchor for the night, when her absent parents and dear little sister Tiny will return. Not very long now, surely, and then—oh, how full of happiness the days will be. But if the child’s eyes could look beyond the glittering sun- set and the treacherous waters, they would see a noble vessel wrapped in flame, and among the white faces in a little boat, far distant, they would recognize father, mother, and sister.
Chapter II.
A delightful August morning. The “Annie Laurie,” a trading barque of largest size, had finished loading, and lay in the harbor of New Orleans, awaiting the hour of sailing. The scene was grand. The deep blue sky contrasted finely with the deeper blue of the Mississippi river, covered at that moment with various kinds of craft, from the little row-boat to the vast iron- clad. The air was clear and fine, even in that smoky city of the South. The “Annie Laurie,” laden with cotton for the markets of New York, was preparing to start on her long voyage. The crew were hoisting her sails, and on the deck stood Captain McArthur. By him stood his wife, a short, well-made young woman with a quiet air of reserve. Clasped by the hand she led a little girl about four years of age, her child you could tell at a glance, by the same quiet, reserved expression, and wonderfully bright grey eyes. The little one’s eyes travelled now from the bright scene before them up to her mother’s face and rested there.
“Shall we start soon, mamma ?” she asked.
: * :
ie basin, . anchor ar little ely, and ve. But Ing sun- a noble faces in e father,
Laurie,” loading, iting the ‘he deep 1e of the
various rast iron- ut smoky len with yaring to sting her aur. By
woman d she led ou could pression, bne’s eyes em up to
By Fire. 29
“Very soon, I believe. See! They're hoisting the anchor now. We're off !” (as the vessel began to glide slowly out of the harbor.) “How glad are you, Tiny ?”
“Oh ! lots, mamma,” cried Tiny, dancing up and down on the deck ; “and how long before I shall see Grace ?”
“in about two weeks,” replied Mrs. McArthur, smil- ing at the child’s eagerness. “Are we going to have a prosperous voyage, do you think ?” she asked, turning to her husband.
“If this weather holds out,” was the prompt reply, “and there are no signs of a storm yet.”
Mrs. McArthur did not answer, but gazed with ab- sent eves upon the mighty “parent of waters,” its placid surface disturbed by scarcely a ripple, and reflecting the blue and silver of the flecked sky above.
And the good ship glided down the widening river, homeward bound.
xk x x x xk > x
A week passed away, and the “Annie Laurie” far, far out at sea, was rushing along through the Atlantic Ocean, towards New York, under a cloud of canvas.
The sun had just risen, when the captain’s wife, Mrs. McArthur, came on deck. She kad not been there long before her husband joined her. “If this weather holds out,” he said, we shall reach New York in a little less than a week, leave our cargo there, and then for home.”
A smile lit up his wife’s face, and murmuring some exclamation of pleasure, she left him and went into the cabin without speaking again. An hour later, Captain McArthur saw with dread the unmistakable signs of an approaching storm. The sun was veiled with a hazy vapor, and masses of heavy black clouds were rushing
30 Sea, Forest and Prairie.
along from the windward. The captain ordered the sails to be furled. The active sailors darted up the rigging to obey the command, and while all hands were aloft the gale came shrieking, roaring and howling on the ship.
With her lee-rail scooping up the white waters, her shrouds whistling and bending to the gale, her masts swaying and creaking, her timbers groaning and hum- ming, away she went, driving through the mad waters, veiled in a cloud of spray from stem to stern.
Amidships, holding on to a pin on the main-fife rail, stood Captain McArthur, watching the men who were furling the jib, Suddenly the ship made a mad plunge. A great torrent of water came sweeping like a huge moving wall over the weather-rail. Before the captain could avoid it by running aft, it struck his form, wash- ing him overboard like a chip. There was a slender half-rotten rope hanging from the deck attached to the rail. Captain McArthur seized this as he went, twisting it round his waist. The wild mass of water swept over and past him. There he was, hanging by the end of the rope, about ten yards from the ship’s side. His wife, who had come on deck just as her husband was swept over the rail, now ran amidships, with pale cheeks and wild eyes, calling on the crew to save their commander. It would be worse than useless to lower boats in such a gale. The sailors ran to the rail, however, and com- menced hauling on to the rope to which the captain was still clinging. As they pulled an ominous snapping sound was heard. The strands of the rotten rope were giving way.
“He must go !” cried a gruff old sailor, despairingly.
SS ane ees Aisi <a aie acality es Cee ae ee ere
me
a a ae a ode ats 5
ed the up the Is were ing on
rs, her
masts ~hum- vaters,
fe rail, ) were lunge. huge aptain wash- lender to the isting
over of the
wife, swept s and nnder, uch a com- 1 was pping were
ngly,
By Fire. 31
“No earthly power can save him now. The rope will part long before we can get him alongside.’ Nearer— nearer, to the ship was the captain drawn. When he was within five yards of it, the rope held him only by one of its strands. This, going round and round, must part in a few seconds.
With clasped hands, and eyes gleaming large and bright, Mrs. McArthur watched her husband, her lips compressed, as if by the power of her will alone she would prevent the rope giving way. The strain upon that one strand was tremendous. It cracked and snapped, but it still held. The first mate stood reaching far out over the rail to be ready to seize the captain the moment he would be drawn within reach. The men at the rope pulled him cautiously nearer to the side of the vessel. A little nearer and he could be reached.
The mate made a grasp at the captain’s hair, missed it, and seized him by the collar of his rough pea-jacket.
“Thank God ! he is saved,” cried the man hoarsely, as a dozen sailors rushed to his assistance, and Captain McArthur stood safe on deck once more. A marvel- lous escape from a watery grave.
Chapter III.
The gale had subsided and the angry waters were re- suming their wonted calm, the heavy clouds parting and showing the smiling blue beneath. The storm ceased as suddenly as it had begun. In half an hour there was no trace of a cloud on the blue canopy above. The rays of the sun poured down with a fierce heat on the deck of the “Annie Laurie.” The crew rejoiced at the change, all but a few of the oldest seamen, who
32 Sea, Forest and Prairie.
shook their heads ominously and declared that the sud- den change boded no good. These were ridiculed by the sailors who lounged about on deck enjoying the fierce heat, that, as the day wore on, grew unbearable. Great heavy masses of clouds were, for the second time that day, seen advancing. Ina short time the sky was completely covered with a canopy of darkness, It seemed as though the predictions of the old seamen were about to be verified. The air was stifling.
Suddenly a strange calm seemed to fall over the ship. Even the sea hushed its restless moaning and crept up the sides of the becalmed vessel in silence. Then the air grew dark as night, and a lurid sheet of light broke from the dark clouds, followed by a terrible crash of thunder, as the dreadful tempest closed round the doomed “Annie Laurie.”
The din of sea and sky was frightful. The waves rose mountains high, their terrible looks mingling with the very lightning of the sky, every pale brilliant flash of which lit up the scared faces of the crew, the inky sea, and the storm-tossed vessel with unearthly distinct- ness. Then one broad glare, accompanied by a peal of thunder that seemed to rend the heavens, and a ball of livid fire ran down the ship’s foremast, splintering it like a reed, and setting fire to the deck. When the men had recovered from the stupor into which the fearful shock had plunged them, it was too late. The flames,
spreading faster than they had deemed possible, were .
creeping up the main-mast, licking up the boards of the deck, stealing above and below.
Captain McArthur, who had been amongst his men, made a frantic rush for the cabin. He was met at the
we at. eRe ne geet
fa aint Rakes. BGs
ie
ie Ae a 3
the sud- tuled by ‘ing the earable. nd time sky was ass, It seamen
he ship. crept up ‘hen the it broke crash of ind the
e waves ng with nt flash he inky distinct-
peal of b ball of ering it he men fearful flames, e, were s of the
is men, t at the
aie Fe. SO SP GE aes
By Fire. 33
door by his wife, their little girl in her arms. Without words, for none were needed, he took her hand, and to- gether they passed up the cabin stairs and gained the deck. Through the forehatch a huge volume of flame and smoke was pouring. The glare of the flames shone for many miles across the dark raging sea. “The cargo! It’s afire! The cotton’s caught!” cried a sailor, rush- ing up to the captain, pale with fright. A glance around told the captain that it would be useless to at- tempt to subdue the flames. No human effort could arrest their progress, and so dreadful was the noise of sea and sky that the minute gun, after being discharged three times, was abandoned. “For,” said the captain, “in any case assistance could not reach us in such an awful tempest.”
At this there was a fearful cry raised for the boats, and, useless as it was, they endeavored to launch them. As they touched the water one after another was dashed into a hundred fragments, and, while they were trying to launch the last, the mainmast fell over the side with a terrible crash. An immense column of flame and sparks shot up toward the dark, lowering sky.
The captain’s wife stood by the weather rail holding her frightened child clasped close in her arms. The flames darted toward her, licking her very garments with their scorching tongues ; but she seemed uncon- scious of peril. Her eyes were fixed on the tossing sea, lit up by the glare of the flames whose dull roar she heard as they raged in the narrow walls below.
Captain McArthur hastened to her side and laid his hand on her shoulder.
BIO pe A recs na ae Seal meememnecrmtactcnae eae
ae ety weeneey
34 Sea, Forest and Prairie.
“Must we die ?” she asked, turning her eyes to meet his gaze quite calmly.
“T hope not,” he answered, turning his face away that she might not see the anxiety written on it ; “The sea has abated a little. The boat may, perhaps, live on it. Come !”
He took the child from her arms, and strode toward the one remaining boat, in which the crew, frightened out of their wits, were fighting for places. The strug- gle ceased for a moment, however, at the captain’s au- thoritative command, and Mrs. McArthur and her little girl were allowed to take their seats quietly. Then the sailors, and last of all the captain, threw themselves into their places, and a huge wave swept them away from the side of the doomed ship, and just in time, for an instant later the vessel was completely wrapped in flame.
The thunder tempest was followed by such a down- pouring of rain as can hardly be imagined. How eagerly the shipwrecked voyagers watched for the dawn need not here be told. The torrents of rain beat down the sea, the wind gradually abated, and towards morning the stars shone through broken masses of cloud. Lighter and lighter grew the sky in the east, over the horizon.
The captain stood erect, and, shading his eves with his hands, peered long and anxiously across the still heaving waste of waters. “Sail ho!” rang out in his stentorian tones, and the light of hope sprang to pallid faces, and glad eyes gazed across the sea at the ap- proaching vessel, which proved to be a French brigan- tine bound for New York.
In half an hour the shipwrecked mariners were stand-
By Fire. 35
to meet ing safe on her deck and meeting with all possible at- tention from the officers, who were deeply sympathetic
vay that for the misfortune they had encountered, and—
The sea Well ! to tell a long story in a few words, the next
e on it. week saw them safely landed in New York, and, a little later, blue waters and smiling sky witnessed a joyous
toward reunion on the shores of Annapolis basin.
pisenee MAUDE SAUNDERS.
e strug-
in’s au- ier little ‘hen the ves into rom the 1 instant 1e, a down- How for the ain beat towards asses af he east,
Lawrencetown, Annapolis County, N.S.
ves with the still it in his to pallid the ap- brigan-
re stand-
TROUBLOUS TIMES.
In France, in 1712, Louis, the eldest son of the Mar- quis of Montcalm, was born, and three years later a little sister, Marie, entered the household. Afterwards there were cther brothers and sisters, but this sketch has to do only with Louis and Marie.
In childhood’s days they were constantly together at play, in the ground surrounding the noble old house, and though, like other children, they had their little quarrels, they were very fond of each other. One great trial to Marie as she grew older was her brother’s con- tempt for dolls ; neither did she take as much interest in military play as he desired. But Louis grew to bea large lad and was sent away to school, while Marie, robbed of her playmate, devoted more time to her studies and less to play, that Louis might not surpass her altogether.
The Montcalms were Catholics, and when John Pay- zant, a man of integrity and some wealth, fell in love with Marie, she knew that she could never marry him with her parents’ consent. To do so without their con- sent meant to leave the old home so dear to her, never to return; but she concluded that life without him would be miserable even though surrounded by all that before had made her so happy. So they fled together, dwelt for some time on the Isle of Jersey and finally sailed across the sea to make a home for themselves
he Mar- later a erwards ; sketch
‘ether at 1 house, eir little ne great er’s COn- interest yto bea
Marie, P to her surpass
hn Pay- in love hrry him eir con- pr, never but him r all that ogether, d finally bmselves
Troublous Times. 37
in the great Western world, where Catholic or Hugue- not worshipped as his conscience dictated.
They settled on an island in Mahone Bay, Nova Sco- tia, where they were very happy. Four children were born to them, John, Louis, Philip, and a little girl. The parents instructed the children in the usual branches of learning, nor did they neglect religious training.
They felt more secure in their island home than though the water about them had been the great walls of a fort, and the trees soldiers on guard.
In the spring of 1756, soldiers from the fort at Lunenburg helped Mr. Payzant break up the soil. On Saturday afternoon they retired to the fort to spend Sunday. In the evening, when all was still, the family heard the report of a musket, followed by the scream of terror, and soon they saw a band of Indians approach- ing the house.
The scream was from a man, captured by the In- dians, who led them thither, hoping that the plunder they would find would induce them to release him. As soon as they reached the island the Indians shot hii. Poor wretch ! he little thought they were directed by a higher mind than his.
As he saw the Indians coming John Payzant fastened the heavy oak door and stood behind it. Finding that the door would not yield the Indians pointed their mus- kets at it in different directions, and fired. <A bullet
entered the father’s heart, and he fell backwards into his wife’s arms, simply saying, “My heart is growing cold, Mary,” and his life cn this earth was ended. Heretofore, their life had been as peace and sunshine which they had enjoyed together—now his heart had
38 sea, Forest and Prairie.
grown cold, and she was left in the gathering gloom with her terrified children at her side. Impossible it would be to protect the little ones she loved from the savages now breaking down the door, In agony she awaited her fate. The screams of a servant's child an- noved the Indians, and they seized the innocent babe and dashed out its brains against a rock. Then, be- cause the distressed mother gave vent to her grief, she was put to death by the tomahawk.
Mary Payzant and her family were led to the canoes, and after the Indians had plundered the house, they fired it and paddled away. Silently, mournfully, the mother left her home where, but last evening, they hed been so happy as they heard the children recite their lessons. As she looked back, she shuddered to think of her dead husband lying in the midst of the flames ; his ashes mingling with the ashes of their home.
And these, her children, what tortures were they to endure ? Must she stand dumb and silent and see them put to death in some cruel manner, as were the servant and her child? Horrible thought !
Leaving the bay, they passed through a river and several lakes, the Indians bearing the canoes on their shoulders as they tramped across portages.
Long vears afterwards, Mary Payzant told her grand- children how, passing down the Avon River, Hants County, in the silent moonlight, they came in sight of Fort Piziquid, now the town of Windsor. The Indians, fearing their captives would be seen by the men at the fort, forced them to lie in the bottom of the canoes.
Many days passed and still they were on the march, sometimes tramping through gloomy forests, and often
sit SY Se IT ae
Soi
y gloom ssible it rom the ony she hild an- ‘nt babe hen, be- rrief, she
» canoes, ise, they ully, the they hed ‘ite their to think flames ; me,
» they to and see were the
‘iver and on their
er grand-
r, Hants sight of Indians,
en at the noes.
e march,
And often
?
mt Bases 3
: #
Troublous ‘Times, 39)
moving over lake or stream in the canoes. Wearisome it was, but as the days went by and they suffered no violence from the Indians, the great terror that at first had seized the children, wore away. ‘The redskins be came friendly and taught the boys the use of the bow and arrow.
The mother felt it was better for the children not to be alarmed, but deep in her heart was a nameless dread —a horror of the fate awaiting them at their journey’s end; for oft had she heard of the treachery of the In- dians. On, on, they went. At last, leaving the forest, they paddled up a large river until they came to a city, built partly on low ground and partly on a high bluff. They landed and were led through the lower to the up- per town. And here a surprise awaited the weary, anx- ious woman, Lo, she was met by her brother Louis, General Montcalm, commander of the French forces at (Quebec.
Then, like a great flood, surged back the recollec- tions of a fond husband, now dead ; a happy home, now laid in ruins ; the long weary journey and the sicken- ing anxiety that had filled her heart;—and here was the author of all her misery, her brother.
Bitterly, scornfully, she accused him of destroying her home and of murdering her husband. She would hear no explanation—she could never forgive him.
Montcalm placed John and Louis in the Jesuit Col- lege, where they were educated for Catholic priests, and he made his sister as comfortable as possible under the circumstances. Ample time had she then to brood over her wrongs, and, as time passed, her heart did not soften toward her brother, who would fain have beheld in his sister the loving comrade of his early days.
40 Sea, Forest and Prairie.
Weeks, months, years went by, until in 1759, the city was besieged. For months Wolfe lingered before the city, seeking some feasible point of attack, and still the French felt secure in their high fortress. But when the sun rose beautifully, on Sept. 13, Wolfe and his men were revealed drawn up in line of battle on the Plains of Abraham.
Montcalm heard as in a dream that the British had gained the heights, but resolved not to surrender with- out a struggle, and at once made an impetuous attack ; the result you all know.
Borne from the battle-field mortally wounded, being told he could live but a few hours, he sent at once for his sister. As she entered the apartment he said, “Marie, I am dying. For the sake of the old days in France, hear me. I heard of your arrival in Nova Scotia, and wishing to shield you from the perils of this war, and the attacks of Indians, I sent some friendly In- dians with an order to bring you here unharmed, that I might see you again and act the part of a brother. But unfortunately, your husband was killed, and you hate me. In this, my dying hour, I ask you to forgive me for the misery I have brought to you ; though, indeed, I meant but kindness. Will you forgive me, Marie ?”
“Louis,” she said, and her face became less stern, “you are dying—far, far away from the dear old home in France, and you ask my forgiveness. I can forgive the loss of my quiet, happy home ; the anxiety for the safety of my children ; the Jong, weary march, and the trials that may come ere I again have a home ; I can forgive all these ; I cannot forgive the death of my hus- band.” So Montcalm died without his sister’s pardon.
he city ore the till the hen the is men . Plains
ish had er with- attack ;
1, being ynee for he said, days in n Nova s of this ndly In- d, that I
forgive for the | and the e; I can my hus- pardon.
Troublous Times. 41
After the death of her brother Mary Payzant and her children wandered back to Nova Scotia, where in Fal- mouth, Hants County, she took up a grant of land. There she spent the remainder of her life, and there some of her descendants live at the present time. The two boys, educated for priests, became Protestant preachers, one preaching for many years in Liverpool,
Many were the adventures they told to their grand- children (often with tears in their eyes) of that terrible journey with the Indians.
LUCILLA PAYZANT,
Windsor Forks, Hants County, N.S.
AN ICY ADVENTURE.
The island of Port Hood is situated on the western coast of Cape Breton, about one and a-half miles from the village of Port Hood, in the County of Inverness. It is about three miles long and one mile broad, and was formerly connected with the mainland by a narrow strip of land. But in the year 1812, during one of the most violent gales that ever occurred in Cape Breton, «> water was drawn over this neck of land, and the soil, being of a sandy nature, was unable to withstand the ac- tion of the waves and forthwith began to wash away. This wearing process has gene on ever since and the re- sult is that the island is now about a mile and a-half from the mainland. There are at present on the island about seventeen families, all of whom are well-to-do. They have erected a nice church and a schoolhouse. In the year 1787 David Smith, whose family came from Massachusetts, settled on Port Hood Island. He was a seafaring man, having gone to sea at the age of nine years, and before he was eighteen years old was com- mander of a vessel. For two years after he came to Port Hood he farmed and fished, and from these two sources obtained a good living. In the vear 1789. just a hundred years ago, his family consisted of himself and wife and three sons, Louis, David and Isaac, aged re- spectively eighteen, fourteen and ten years. These bovs, like their father, were noted for their enterprise
ae age e s
SEN END
estern 3 from erness. nd was w strip e ost 1e soil, the ac- 1 away. the re- a-half > island -to-do. ise. In e from He was of nine s com- ame to fse. two 8g, just self and ed re- These terprise
An Icy Adventure. 43
and manly daring. One incident will illustrate these characteristics. . When about seventeen years old, Louis, the eldest, encountered a bear. Fortunately, the boy had with him a gun loaded with shot. It was the first time he had ever a chance of killing a bear, and he had all a boy’s ardor for the sport. Watching his oppor- tunity, he sent the charge of shot into the bear. This so enraged the animal that it attacked the boy, who, with the stock of his gun, succeeded in killing it. The place where this occurred, in commemoration of the event, is called “Bear Cove.”
In February, 1789, David Smith, senior, with his three sons, David, Louis and Isaac, accompanied by two dogs, started out on the ice to hunt seals. They had gone quite a distance from the shore when one of them looked back and uttered an exclamation of dis- may. All turned towards the shore and to their terror saw that, on acccunt of easterly winds, the ice between them and the shore had passed, leaving a wide stretch of dark water between.
Had they at once attempted to jump across to the shore they might have saved themselves, but they tried to find a narrow place to cross, unheeding the fact that every moment increased their peril, as the ice was con- stantly shifting out to sea. At last the father, taking off ‘is coat, said: “Boys, I will swim to the shore and get a boat; you remain on the ice; [ shall return for you;” and. suiting the action to the word, the brave man sprang into the icy waters and swam towards shore. He succeeded in reaching the ice near the shore and the boys said that they saw him get upon it, but it is sup- posed that he was in some way carried under, as he was never seen afterwards,
44 Sea, Forest and Prairie.
This happened in the morning.
Meanyhile, the boys were floating out to sea. The wind was very cold, and they were without provisions. How long they could stand it they did not knew. Even if they kept from freezing they had nothing with which to satisfy their hunger. The two elder boys were more able to stand it, but Isaac was a boy of tender years, with a child’s impatience at the unsatisfied desire for food. The day passed; night came on, and with it the cold increased. Before the ice parted they had killed seal, and during the night they managed to kill anotiier, and with the skins of these and the coat left by the father, they kept themselves from freezing. Imagine the agony and terror of those poor children. They were quite certain that their father was drowned, and saw nothing but a like fate for themselves. Nay; there was, perhaps, in store for them a worse fate—that of being frozen or starved to death.
They thought of their widowed mother and how she would feel when she discovered her loss. However, they did not lose courage. Committing themselves to the care of Him who rules the elements, they began to plan some way of escape. But all appeared hopeless; there seemed no way out of their horrible position.
The second day dawned. The children were not ab- solutely freezing, but their horror of their position was every moment increasing. For over twenty-four hours not a morsel of food had passed their lips, and even if they were able to withstand the cold much longer, which did not seem probable, death by starvation stared them in the face. To add to their misery, the dogs set up a pitiful howl as if imploring the Unseen to spare them.
1. The visions. Even
h which
"s were ' tender dd desire 1 with it 1ey had aged to coat left freezing. children. Jrowned, s, Nay; ate—that
how she
Towever,
uselves to
began to hopeless; tion.
re not ab- bition Wwas bur hours d even if er, which hred them set up a are them.
An Icy Adventure. 45
All the time the ice was floating in a northerly direction. The boys could still see the shore, from which they were distant about three miles, but their chances of escape seemed very faint. With two stout poles, which they had brought on the ice for the purpose of killing seals, they broke off a small cake of ice, on which, with their dogs, they embarked, and thus, in Nature’s boat, they headed for shore. Their progress necessarily was very slow; they were almost exhausted with cold and hunger, and were sometimes tempted to give up the effort, which seemed nearly hopeless. But life was sweet to them, so with the desperate energy of despair they kept to their task. The exertion helped to keep up circulation and the hope of reaching land was stronger than their sense of exhaustion and hunger. It was in the early part of the forenoon of the second day that the boys, with their dogs, embarked on the cake of ice. Late in the after- noon of the same day they found themselves within a short distance of shore. Would they reach it? It was uncertain whether or not their strength would hold out, and now, to their dismay, they became aware that the ice on which they were floating was gradually sinking. It had become thoroughly water-soaked. Had all their toil been in vain? Should they indeed be drowned when land was so near? Apparently there was little ground for hope, for the water was washing over the ice and their legs were wet to the knees.
The poor dogs stood looking, now at their master and again at the shore, and all the while howling dis- mally. Poor brave boys! It was enough to have moved sterner hearts than theirs. Summoning all the energy of despair they moved their paddles desperately
46 Sea, Forest and Prairie.
for a few moments. At last they touched the shore ice and, by leaping from cake to cake, they succeeded in reaching mother earth safely. Their feelings can be better imagined than described when they found them- selves again on firm footing.
At once they looked around to ascertain their where- abouts. They found that they had landed at Little Mabou, which they knew to be about seven miles from their home. So now they were almost as badly off as ever, for in their present exhausted state they could not think of walking so far. But to their joy they per- ceived a house only a short distance off. Whistling to their dogs to foliow they started for it. But they were destined to another disappointment,—the door was locked; the occupants were away. However, they knew that at any rate they must have food and shelter, so, breaking a pane of glass, they succeeded in gaining an entrance. At once they built a fire, and, having found something to eat, they all lay down by the fire and fell asleep. Early the next morning they set out for home. In the meantime news had spread abroad that Davie Smith and his sons. had been drowned. Much sympathy was felt for the widowed mother, and people came from far and near to comfort her. In fact the occupants of the house in which the boys had spent the night had gone to Port Hood to comfort, and, if necessary, to relieve the wants of the poor widow. Great was their surprise, on returning home, to meet the three boys and their dogs. The mother was overjoyed at again meeting her three sons, but her joy was, of course, terribly marred by the fact that her husband had found a watery grave.
shore ice eeded in s can be 1d them-
r where- at Little les from ly off as ould not hey per- stling to ley were oor was er, they 1 shelter, | gaining , having the fire vy set out 1 abroad lrowned. ther, and
In fact ad spent t, and, if
widow. meet the verjoyed was, of band had
An Icy Adventure. 47
The three lads grew to manhood, and were always noted for their courage and enterprise. Louis and David afterwards removed to Mabou, and were the first settlers on that place. Some idea of the fertility of the land on which they established themselves can be got from the fact that for seven consecutive years the ave- rage of forty-five bushels of wheat was taken from one acre of land. Louis was killed by a bull when he was seventy-five years old. He had a family of ten chil- dren, the eldest of whom died this winter in her ninety- third vear.
JENNIE SMITH. Hillsborough, N.S.
2 Sha DES team OER
TALES OF ACADIE.
The year 1775 is marked by “the expulsion of the Acadians.” In that year, shortly before this event, a party of settlers came to Grand Pre from Martha’s Vineyard, an island off the coast of Massachusetts. Among them were my great-grandparents, Charles Y and Elizabeth W , aged respectively four- teen and eight.
When, on their arrival in Acadia, they heard of a ter- rible massacre, which had happened some months be- fore, they were much frightened and wished themselves back in their old home. A party of immigrants, wish- ing to cross the Cornwallis valley, hired French guides, camped for the night in a hollow, now called “moccasin hollow,” a beautiful place surrounded by hills and “the forest primeval,” while through the centre a silvery stream wound its way. Here, as the sun sank to rest, the weary people fell asleep. Suddenly, at midnight, the terrible war-whoop of the Indian was heard. The terrified people rushed in all directions, only to be beaten and hacked to pieces by their dark and terrible foes. The sun rose. The band of immigrants slept their long last sleep. The Indians sitting by their camp fires told with hideous grins of the night’s amusement.
Now comes that event known as the expulsion of the ~ Acadians; but history tells us that, and it is my aim only to write things of which the world does not know.
a) Rey
of the ent, a rtha’s asetts. harles
four-
a ter- hs be- selves wish- ruides, ccasin d “the silvery oO rest, Inight, The to be errible slept camp ent. of the only
Tales of Acadie. 49
Shortly after the expulsion of the French a treaty of peace was made with the Indians, and the gun and tomahawk were buried, the tomahawk lowest as a sign that the Indians would be the last to break the peace. Our friends at Grand Pre, however, knew nothing of the treaty, and so, when they heard that fifteen canoe loads of Indians were coming down the river, the news spread like wildfire, and soon all were assembled in the fort. In the fort there was no ammunition, and no provisions. Therefore, it was seen by all that resistance was useless. At last they decided what to do. One of their number, the father of Charles Y——-, could speak French. He, with two others, volunteered to go down to the river and have a parlev with the Indians, and, if possible, to ar- range terms of peace. When the canoes came within hearing, “Can you speak French,’ Mr. Y demand- ed in French. “Yes, and English too,” cried the chief in English. On they came: and as the chief leapt ashore he turned the muzzle of his gun to the ground, and ex- tended his right hand, saving: “We are all one, brother,” and as each dusky warrior leapt ashore he turned the muzzle of his gun to the ground, extended his hand and said,“We are all one, brother.” All can imagine the de- light of the three men, when they heard of the relation- ship.
‘Years have passed. The treaty has never been broken. A new and beautiful village has sprung up in place of the old one destroyed by the English, while Blomidon still keeps watch over the valley.
“Still stands the forest primeval. The murmuring pines and the hemlocks,
Eee ee rn
he Ste SE
50 Sea, Forest and Prairie.
Bearded with moss, and in garments green, indistinct in a the twilight,
Stand like Druids of old, with voices sad and prophetic; Stand like harpers hoar, with beards that rest on their ; bosoms. Loud from its rocky caverns, the deep-voiced neighbor- 4
ing’ ocean Speaks, and, in accents disconsolate, answers the wail of the forest.” 3 MINNIE A. LOOMER.
trookiyn Corner’s, King’s Co., N.S.
inct in
hetic:
. their ‘hbor- vail of
cm aR a e
A TRAGEDY OF THE AVON,
If you will take a good look at a map of Eastern Can- ada, you will notice, protruding out into the Atlantic Ocean, a curiously shaped peninsula, enclosed by two great arms of the sea. That to the north is the Gulf of St. Lawrence, which the French called the Great Bay; the smaller indentation on the south is the water to which De Monts gave the high-sounding name Le Grande Baie Francoise. Baie Francoise, we now call Bav of Fundy; why, I could never find out. The pen- insula between these two coast waters is Nova Scotia, the old Acadlie.
Now, if vou follow French Bay up to its head waters, vou will find that it here stretches out two arms to the east,—Cumberland Basin and Minas Basin. The lat- ter, which, of course, appears quite small on a large map is a beautiful sheet of water, more than twenty miles wide. Many rivers flow to it; and these, too, look small—like small brooks—on the map. They are, in reality, very insignificant and nasty-looking when the tide goes out; for, of each of them, nothing is to be seen but a great muddy ditch, at the bottom of which only a few inches of water are flowing. One of these rivers emptying into Minas Basin is the Avon, which the Indians calied Piziquid, the muddy river; and this is the scene of my story, which I am sorry is not a pleasant one. A celebrated American, Mr. Dudley Warner,
52 Sea, Forest and Prairie.
laughed at our river when he was taken to see it at low tide; but, if he had seen the Avon in its full strength,— nearly two miles wide at its mouth, over sixty feet deep, and filled with a tremendous mass of water rushing along with the speed of a mountain torrent,—he could not have helped admiring its greatness.
While I am describing this river, I may as well ex- plain why it is that its waters behave so strangely, for the Avon is one of the chief actors in my story. Well, if you have been looking at your map carefully, you must have seen that the Bay of Fundy and Minas Basin are of a singular shape—like a thick wedge. This ac- counts for the remarkable tidal disturbance. The ocean tide, flowing westerly, pushes a great volume of water up the Bay of Fundy with such force, that, for a few hours the rivers are very full, and high banks, called dykes, are necessary to keep out the sea. Just when the tide is at its deepest the waters begin to t: and, a few hours later, the rivers are dry again.
Our deep rivers and our splendid growth of timber have made us, in Nova Scotia, shipbuilders as well as seafarers. Sailing up Minas Basin into the Avon, one sees, dotting the shores, numerous pretty villages, at each of which a large vessel is on the stocks, being made ready for sea. Summerville, Burlington, Huntsport and Avondale are passed in turn, until you reach Wind- sor, my home, an incorporated town of considerable importance.
At Avondale, in the spring of 1889, the keel was laid for a ship of two thousand tons burden. A great deal of timber is needed for the construction of so large a vessel, and the raftsmen were busy for a long time,
t low th,— deep, shing could
| ex- ly for Well, , you Basin iS ac-
The ne of fora anks,
Just t?
mber ell as , one 2s, at made sport Vind- rable
5 laid deal ‘ge a time,
A Tragedy of the Avon. 3
sm
bringing material down the Avon to the shipyard. The spring had opened early, and there were good pros- pects for a prosperous season, On the twenty-eighth day of March a load of chain for binding rafts was got ready to be carried up the river in a boat. In the even- ing the little craft, with its weighty cargo, set out to work its way up the tide, to the mills, where the tim- ber-raft was waiting to be secured. In charge of her were five men, the stoutest and strongest that could be got. Just how long the trip ought to take was not known, The boat was heavily laden, but her crew had the current in their favor at starting, and there would be very little difficulty in making the whole distance in a couple of tides at most,
From its mouth, where it is about two miles wide, the Avon narrows very rapidly. At its junction with the St. Croix the decrease is not noticeable. Two miles fur- ther up, however, the river is little over half a mile in width; and at the Windsor bridges it has narrowed to about a quarter of a mile. This constant diminishing of the river area increases the turbulence of the tide, and gives rise to cross-currents and treacherous eddies. One of the worst is where the St. Croix, a tidal river half a mile wide, discharges its waters into the Avon. At the railway bridge, above Windsor, the current runs very strong at slack tide; and in other places further up stream caution is needed in navigating a raft, or even a row-boat. The Indians had always avoided canoeing in the Avon. The Piziquid, they said, was treacherous. To persons acquainted with the river, however, the thought of danger never occurred.
The boatmen with their heavy load set out in the best
54 Sea, Forest and Prairie.
of cheer; and their heartiness, as they strained at the oars, found a response in the hoarse current which bore them onward. There was a long pull before them, and the sooner over the better.
“Steady and strong” was the word. The work of the river men is, at the best, of a cheerless nature. But the honest hearts in the little boat wished for nothing greater than the satisfaction of knowing that their work was well done. They had families and friends at home, who were waiting for them when the week’s toil was over. On swept the current, and darkness lowered fast. The over-weighted craft passed safely through the piers of the two bridges; down the rapids at the Ferry Hiil Ford; on, past the limestone cliffs and the dyke of the Falmouth shore; round the bend, and away with the tide; on into the gloom and the gathering night. Sing- ing at their dangerous task, strong and fearless, they were true-hearted men; heroes untrained in war, bit straining their sinews at the oar, and roughing it in the cold and darkness for wife and children.
The boat would not likely reach its destination by the first tide. It would be better to wait a tide, and make the latter half of the trip with the fresh current. The returning river sometimes rushes in with violence, in depth sufficient to swamp a boat. But the men at the oars were acquainted with all the queer pranks of the Avon, and would take e ery precaution.
The people of the mill were unaware of the departure of the boat. The arrivai of a crew would not be unex- pected, however, for a large quantity of ship timber was ready, waiting to be fastened together into rafts and sent down to the yards. There was no occasion for
OY Soe cates ee aN a eS ayes ae eee
ic a a
t the bore and
k of But hing vork ome, was fast. piers Hiil f the | the ing they
bert 1 the
r the hake The ep, in the the
ure
eX- vas and
A Tragedy of the Avon.
cn cyt
anxiety. A trip up stream was an everyday occurrence. But the families of the mei who were facing the (a - gers of the tide knew that always there was more or less risk to run; and timid wives and inothers pro ‘ed for the safe journey of the little boat. It was a s'espless night for these fond hearts. | Morning dawned clear, however, and with the day all fears passed off. The men must, ere this, have reached the end of their voy- age. Ina couple of days more they would be down again with the raft.
Work was going 0n rapidlv at the Avondale yards, and the opening of the river so early for navigation made brisk times along the bank. At full tide the basin was crowded with craft of all kinds: American schoon- ers and brigs to load gypsum up the St. Croix; lighters, bringing building stone from the Horton cliffs; ferry- boats from down the bay, and scows and tugs innumer- avle. The busy carpenters at the shipyard had almost forgotten the boat lately sent up to the mills. Its crew had not returned with the raft, and no word had come as to when they might expect it.
Five days after the departure of the men from Avon- dale, the foreman at the yards received a message from the mills saying that the craft was ready to be sent down, and was only waiting till a crew would come up and get it. Then it flashed upon his mind that something was wrong. The litdle boat had come to harm. Like wild- fire the word spread that a beat’s crew of five men had been lost, going up the Avon. For a while people were dazed. The search parties were organized. ‘rom every village men set out to look for the unfortunate crew, who had certainly met with some accident. Up
\ i q
meng siemereyep cen as manent nae MSL Ag An AAD LA eae NN acaAL eh DR eb Oe NS a NN
56 Sea, Forest and Prairie.
and down the river was searched without any trace of the lost ones. Then the worst began to be feared. Hopeful ones still clung to theories as to the safety of the missing men, but, finally, the stoutest lost hope. A day passed, and no news came. Another day went by. Then one of the searchers brought ashore a hat which was thought to have belonged to one of the missing party. Later on an upturned boat was picked up, which was recognized as the one which had left Avondale a week before. The worst fears were realized now. There was sorrow in desolate homes, and everybody was sad.
The retreating and returning tide told the tragic tale. The bodies of the unfortunate men were cast ashore by the remorseless current. This was all that the river would reveal. Truly did an old Micmac say of it: “Piziquid,—bad river; treacherous river.”
FRANK W. DE SOLOAN.
Windsor, N.S.
Al tic sot
Wa see
on bei the had hap ly t fort L iarl strc batt rou dist was whc way whe had Aft
ce of
ty of » A it by. vhich ssing vhich ale a now. body
: tale. re by river ir ite
“THE WOODS AND THE SEA HAVE RUINED ME.”
The summer of 1827 was fast drawing to a close. Already the rich green verdure, which is so characteris- tic of our island home, was giving place to the more sombre hues of autumn, when, on a fine evening to- wards the end of September, a vessel might have been seen sailing majestically into one of our ports. She had on board a goodly number of passengers, among them being an Irishman named David Power, who, tired of the hardships which he had undergone in his native land, had resolved to emigrate with his family to America, if, happily, he might improve his fortune; and it is his low- ly but eventful life in an obscure part of this island that forms the theme of this narrative.
At the time our story opens Da: ie, as he was famil- iarly called, was in the full vigor o: ‘manhood, with a strong, sturdy constitution, apparently well odapted to battle with the difficulties of pioneer life; but though of rough exterior he possessed a kind heart and a happy disposition, and in his dealings with his fellow-men he was honest and upright, thus gaining the respect of a/! who knew him. On his arrival he at once made his way to the home of his brother-in-law, Michael Long, who had come out from Ireland a few years before, an’ had settled on a little farm in Lot 16 in this county.
After considering the matter Davie decided to make BE,
58 Sea, Forest and Prairie.
his home in the same locality, and he at once took pos- session of the old cookhouse as a provisional shelter for his family, hoping, as soon as circumstances would per- mit, to replace it with a better one. He was very indus- trious, and having rented one hundred acres of land in the adjoining district, he soon cleared away sufficient space to enable him to erect a log cabin, into which he moved his family, and where he lived comfortably for many years. Naturall, sociable and friendly, it afford- ed him great pleasure to see the boys of the settlement visiting his cabin in the long winter evenings, when he would gather them round his cheery fire, and keep them convulsed with laughter over the amusing stories he would tell them of “ould Ireland.” His children were quiet and well-behaved, and soon became great iavor- ites in the neighborhood. Thus time passed on, crown- ing the honest industry of our hero with success, until,
in a few years, he was making a comfortable living for
his family, and was comparatively independent.
After some time his eldest son who had remained in Ireland, came out to the new home of his parents. He ‘staved but a short time, however, when he again left them and went on to New Brunswick, and within a year the sad intelligence was received that he had been drowned in one of the rivers of that province. With the exception of this sad accident things ran on pretty smoothly with the family until the beginning of the year 1837, at which time the sad event I am now going to relate took place.
Ona clear, frosty morning in the month of January of that year, Davie and his son Jim, a boy about twelve or thirteen, were sitting by the fire, when young Long,
pos- ‘r for | per- idus- nd in icient ch he y for fford- ‘ment en he them es he were [avor- 1own- until, g for
ed in
He n left hin a been With retty nf the
going
ary of lve or Long,
The Woods and the Sea. 59
whose family I have already alluded to, rushed into the cabin, exclaiming that he had just seen a fox in a field near by. Upon hearing this, they all three started in pursuit, Davie taking his gun, a little carbine, as he called it, which he had brought with him from Ireland. No sooner had they approached the field than the fox, taking the hint, made for the woods, quickly followed by his pursuers. The animal seemed to be endowed with a double share of the proverbial vulpine cunning, for he decoyed the men on by keeping himself con- stantly in view but not near enough to get a shot. Davie, when speaking of it afterward, would positively declare that it was not a fox at all, but “the very Divil himself.” At length, after following him all day with- out any success, toward evening they began to think of returning home, when, to their dismay, they found they had lost their way. On becoming fully aroused to their danger, instead of retracing their steps, as they could easily have done, there being plenty of snow, they travelled round and round on a small plot of ground, making no headway, until at last they were quite bewil- dered; and they soon perceived that, whatever might be the consequence, they must prepare to spend the night in the woods. Tired and hungry, they were by this time pretty well exhausted.
It was bitterly cold, and as it was before the days of lucifer matches, they had no fireworks with them except the gun; by burning powder in this they thought to suc- ceed in getting a fire started, but the attempt proved a failure. However, endeavoring to make the best of their pitiable condition, Davie cleared away the snow and made a bed of some spruce boughs, on which he
Sapa ala Lat Li ERAN 0 nat Re
CEE IE
60 Sea, Forest and Prairie.
laid the boys, and then lay down on top of them to keep them warm, nobly sacrificing his own comfort in order to keep them from freezing. All through the solitary hours of that bleak winter night he bravely withstood the cold, while his anxiety was increased by the thought of the loved ones at home, who would, doubtless, be much concerned about their long absence. But “long- est nights will have an ending,” and as soon as the first grey streaks of dawn were visible through the trees, Davie endeavored to rouse his companions. His nephew was still alive notwithstanding the cold, but his own son was quite unconscious and speechless, so much so, indeed, that every effort they could make for his res- toration was in vain, and he died soon after daylight. With a sorrowful heart the old man prepared to work his way out, but insisted that his nephew should remain beside the corpse of his son. The poor boy reluctantly obeyed, and what he endured during the long hours of that day may be better imagined than described. Alone in the stillness of that dense forest with his lifeless com- panion how sad and lonely would he feel; how eagerly would he listen for the sound of footsteps coming to his aid; and 19w, as the darkness of night once more gath- ered round him, and no help came, he would feel that, unless speedily relieved, he must, ere long, share the fate of his compan.on.
His uncle, after travelling all day, reached home about dusk. The neighbors, who had been out hunting for them, upon hearing the sad tale, volunteered to go and rescue the other boy, who, it was thought, might still be alive. Provided with lanterns and fireworks, they started, travelling in single file, and taking turn
keep yrder itary tood ught s, be ong- first trees,
His it his nuch $s res- ight. work main cantly irs of Alone com- gerly o his gath- that, e fate
10me nting oO go might orks,
turn
The Woods and the Sea. 61
about to break the track. About midnight they found the body of young Power, but his cousin was nowhere to be seen. It commenced snowing, and the men, tired and worn by their long tramp, supposing he had fol- lowed Davie’s track out, gave up the search, and turned their steps homeward, arriving there about four o’clock inthe morning. Immediately after daylight another party started in, and, after some difficult,-, succeeded in finding the body of the missing boy, who, sad to relate, had been alive when the first party were in, as he had moved after the snow had fallen.
The poor fellow, ‘wearied out with the long waiting for the help that never reached him, had moved on a little; but courage and hope at last failed him, and on coming to a little thicket he took off his Scotch bonnet, and using that for his pillow, laid himself down to die alone, in the gloom of the night, with no mother’s hand to cheer and bless, only the tall, cold firs and pine-trees around him, but above him the eternal heavens and the infinite God’s pity looking down.
This sad affair cast a gloom over the whole settle- ment, while the wail of lamentation that went up from the bereaved households was heartrending, and even yet, after the lapse of forty-three years, remains vivid and fresh in the memory of those who witnessed it. What sad hearts there would be in the old log cabin, and what an affecting scene, as the poor old mother stood over the corpse of her son, wringing her hands with the piteous moan—*The woods and the sea have ruined me.” But the hand of time, in a measure, healed their sorrow, and for fifteen years after this the old couple lived happily together.
RE IRE ASL ROY ream Re eT es
62 Sea, Forest and Prairie.
Once again, in February, 1851, the old man and his youngest son were lumbering in the same fatal woods, when, by the fall of a tree, he was suddenly killed.
“The little woman,” as he was wont to call his wife, survived him but a few years, when she, too, sank down to her final rest beside him, plaintively sighing out her life amid the sad refrain “the woods and the sea have ruined me.” And so, in a quiet nook in the vicinity of their adopted home, far away from the land of their na- tivity, the old couple sleep side by side.
ELIZA D. RAMSAY.
Summerside, P. E. Island.
oe
THE REV. DONALD MACDONALD.
My story is not one of adventure, or struggle for wealth or power. It is one of the true heroism of a man who did not think of his own wealth or greatness, but went through all kinds of hardships to preach to men who had not heard the Word of God for years. Many a night he slept in a log hut, through which the wind had easy entrance. His bed on these occasions was of straw, or even the boughs of trees. In his life- long battle with the indifference and carelessness of those whom he was trying to save from worse than death, he exhibited rarer qualities, both of mind and heart, than is shown by the soldier on the battle-field, or by the man, who, on the impulse of the moment, leaps into the sea to rescue a drowning companion.
The Reverend Donald Macdonald, one of the great- est preachers, and, perhaps, the most wonderful man who was ever on Prince Edward Island, was the founder of the sect of Macdonaldites, the most peculiar and original of religious bodies. He was born on the first of January, 1785, in Perthshire, Scotland. _ He chose the calling of a minister, and was educated at St. An- drew’s University. He was ordained to the ministry of the Church of Scotland in the year 1816. For the first eight years of his ministry he preached among his native hills. He then crossed the Atlantic and preached for two years in Cape Breton. He came to Prince
it 2 ay 4 } ae yeh | ‘ il j
64 Sea, Forest and Prairie.
Edward Island in 1826. At first he had no church, but was obliged to preach in barns, houses, schools, and even in the open air. His clear, strong voice could be heard for a great distance, and people came in crowds to listen to him.
The peculiarity of the Macdonaldites was, that while Mr. Macdonald was preaching they gently swayed to and fro, or clapped their hands. As he waxed more elo- quent their motions became more animated. At first they pleaded aloud for mercy; after a time they became joyful, and cried out, “Glory ! Glory !” and that they had been taken out of the miry pit and their feet were set upon a rock. The women’s bonnets came off, and their hair broke loose from all bounds and fell in wild profusion over their faces. Their movements were so violent that when they threw their heads back their hair snapped like a whip-cord. People said that it was the mesmeric power that Mr. Macdonald possessed that caused this strange behavior on the part of his flock. A gentleman told Mr. Macdonald that this was the case. He replied: “You blasphemous scoundrel! Would you call the Holy Spirit of the Lord Donald Macdon- ald?” It was not only good people who were influ- enced in this strange manner. It has been known that, on several occasions, people who went to laugh and scoff, were, by the preacher’s eloquence and their sym- pathy with the people, themselves affected in the same way.
Before the sermon Mr. Macdonald always gave a discourse on the naticnal, political and religious ques- tions of the day, and in this way taught his people what was going on in the world, for in those days newspapers
‘i
The Rev. Donald Macdonald. 65
were not so plentiful as they are now; besides, many of his parishioners were very ignorant. He was always displeased when people came late to church. One time when a great number were assembled, and waiting for him to begin, he remained silent. The people won- dered, but never a word he said. After a time one of his chief elders came in. “Well, James,” he said, “did you pass anyone on the road?” “No;” answered the astonished elder. “Did you see anyone behind you?” “No.” “Well, then, we may begin.” This is only one instance of the way he had of making his people punc- tual. Great was the'respect and love his congregations had for him; but they also feared him. He disliked to see gay bonnets or dresses in church. It was no un- common thing for him to command a woman to take off the gaudy bonnet she wore, and give it to him that he might hold it up to ridicule, saying : “What do you think of the like of that for a child of God to wear ?” He was very generous, and, although never married, had a great love for children. He always carried pen- nies in his pockets to give to any little one he might chance to meet. Like the apostles of old, “when he came to a village he went to the house of some worthy man, and there abode till he went thence.” He did not receive a salary, but the people gave him all he needed. In living, first with one and then another of his flock, he became personally acquainted with them all. He was of the opinion that to rock babies was bad for them. He, therefore, told their parents to take the rockers off the cradles. Many a poor mother spent hours over a cross baby who was used to being rocked asleep; but
66 Sea, Forest and Prairie.
still they had to obey—for the minister had spoken, and his word was law.
Mr. Macdonald had a keen sense of the ridiculous, There was at one time a man in Charlottetown by the name of Sabine Knight. He was giving a religious lec- ture, and had some strange ideas about heaven. After his lecture he said: “I defy anyone to contradict what I have been saying;” and, looking over the audience, he saw Mr. Macdonald; “yes, and I even defy the Rev- erend Denald Macdonald.” Mr. Macdonald, when thus challenged, rose quietly and said: “Mr. Knight need not concern himself so much about heaven; for does it not say in the Bible, ‘There shall be no night there ?”
In his appearance he was stout, rather below the me- dium height, and powerfully built. He had a fine, piercing blue eye, which looked one through and through. His manners were those of a gentleman ; and, if at a wedding or any social gathering, he could make himself pleasant and agreeable to all. He never took a fee for performing a marriage ceremony.
His parish extended from Bedeque to Murray Har- bor and from Rustico to Bell Creek. He had five thousand followers, and they were of “all sorts and con- ditions of men.” There was one great difficulty in get- ting from one part of the country to another, for in those days the roads were not like they are now; but no obstacle could keep him from preaching the Gospel, or going to see anyone who was in trouble. He was very kind to the poor, even to those who were not in his own congregation. His principal stations were at De Sable and Murray Harbor Road. Here he held the Sacra-
wer the T st him bro wat ing’ san not Ny dere dev how Ma till dine plac nou Tas h
, and
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for ight
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Tar- five con- get- r in tno 1, or ery own able cra-
The Rev. Donald Macdonald. 67
ment. Every house in the village at Sacrament time was crowded; and, as the people generally remained over night, the floors of the houses and barns had to serve as beds. Long tables were placed in the aisles of the church, at which the communicants sat. Often he preached the whole day, first in Gaelic, then in Eng- lish, The people stayed to both, for they did not like to go out and disturb the meeting. To outsiders who came to Sacrament from other congregations he would say: “Did you come to mock?” If they said “No,” he would tell them to sit down.
Parents bringing children to him to be christened were never made to take vows upon themselves, as is the custom in most of the Presbyterian churches. And I suppose people thought this peculiar, and spoke to him about it; for on one occasion, when a couple brought their child to him, he said: “Do you think I would put vows on two black rebels like you?” Dur- ing his ministry he registered the baptism of two thou- sand two hundred children, and christened many more not registered.
Mr. Macdonakd thought it sinful to eat pork; so he or- dered the people to kill their pigs, and inimediately his. devout followers slaughtered them, fat or lean. Some,. however, who did not believe in this, but fearing Mr. Macdonald’s wrath, concealed their pigs in the woods till they should be fit to kill. Once, when invited to dine with a brother clergyman, a roast of pork was. placed on the table. Mr. Macdonald was asked to pro- nounce a blessing. “No,” he replied; “no blessing will I ask till you take that piece of pork out of my sight.”
Mr. Macdonald was a good singer. He wrote
a t iy y cy
ch aA AIOE R OE BEEZ!
68 Sea, lorest and Prairie.
hymns and set them to the lively or plaintive tunes of his native country, such as “The Campbells are Com- ing,” “Ye Banks and Braes o’ Bonny Doone,” or Burns’ “Highland Mary.” He wrote three books, called re- spectively, “Phe Millenium,” “Baptism,” and “The plan of Salvation.”
When he was an old white-haired man of seventy- eight he fell sick, and it was thought he would not re- cover. He then wrote epistles to his congregations, commending them to God. But his health was re- stored, and he worked six years longer. While paving a visi to a Mr. Lacloed, of Southport, he was again
taken sick. Many came from far and near to see him. He died on Triday, the twenty-second of February, 1867, and was buried at Uigg, Murray Harbor Road. A handsome granite monument was raised to his mem- ory, on which was engraved a short account of his life in Latin, Greek, English and Gaelic; also the following text: “And they that be wise shall shine as the bright: ness of the firmament; and they that turn many to right- cousness as the stars for ever and ever.”
Mr. \lacdonald was a man of grezt inte'leet and .ster- ling honesty. His power as an orator was of no mean quality. Some of his followers even went so far as to say he could perform miracles. Be that as it may, he had a great faith in the Master whom he served. True. he hhad his faults, as other men have, but they were far outweighed by his virtues. He knew the exact cir- cumstances of all, and was ever ready with sympathy, consolation, reproof, or substantial aid, as the case de- manded. He was a man of warm feelings, and loved his people, and they, in return, were devotedly attached
es of om- urns’ 1 re- plan
enty- t re- ions, Ss re- ving pain him, lary, oad, 1em- ; life Vin geht. gihit-
sver- dean s to , he rue, > far cir- thy, de- ved hed
The Rev. Donald Macdonald. 69
to him. His memory is reverently cherished by the children’s childresi of those who are called by his namie. Truly he might have said with the Apostle Paul, “I have fought a good fight; [ have finished my course; I
have kept the faith.” VANNIE LAWSON.
Charlottetown, P.ELT
THE SEAL HUNT,
One fine morning, in the winter of 1865, the inhabi- tants of a small country village heard the barking of numerous seals in the Northumberland Strait. As far as the eye could reach the ice was black with them. It was determined to secure some of these animals, as their pelts were very valuable. Several ardent seal hunters set out with sticks and knives, and were successful in killing a large number. At that time, as at present, there was an Old Country gentleman and his adopted son living in the place. This man promised his boy if he would work well during the day, they would go down and watch the sealers killing their game toward night.
Down they accordingly went, going far out on the ice. While they were watching attentively, suddenly, to their horror, the ice parted. Tortunately the most of them got upon the bord-ice, that is, the ice that remains at- tached to the shore. [ive or six, however, were not so fortunate, among them the old gentleman mentioned above and his foster son. These two were together on a small cake of ice. The man told the lad to lie down flat on his stomach and he would try and paddle ashore. | While so engaged, however, the cake parted with their 7 arm and leg on each piece of ice, and then managed to hold them together. By this time the news was spread- ing rapidly respecting the danger to which some of the people were exposed, and two men, named McVean, of- fered to go to the rescue. By great exertion they saved
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The Seal Hunt. 71
the boy and his foster father, but not until the next morning,
Several men, on another cake of ice, were also out all night. When they first saw their danger, one of therm grabbed a slaughtered seal, hoping to live upon its flesh if carried out to sea One poor fellow took off his cap and threw it on the ice, exclaiming, “ly wife is a widow to-night.” But his fears were not realized, for they were picked up the next day, some miles to the eastward. Thus all were rescued, finally, from their perilous situa- tion.
The seals that were killed, being on the bord-ice, were dragged ashore, and from that day to this the barking of seals, with very few exceptions, has never been heard in these parts.
HARRY C. BISHOP. Kingsborough, Lot 47, P.E.I.
; (
A TERRIBLE NIGHT ON THE ICE.
A little more than thirty years ago, when the now flourishing town of Summerside had grown only to the size of a small village, a very sad and tragic event hap- pened on the ice, in this harbor, which, for the time, cast a deep gloom over the neighborhood.
The winter had just fairly set in, and the first ice had completely closed up the navigation. It was about the time of the Christmas festivities, so much enjoyed by the young people in those days in the social and innocent pastime of sleigh-driving and visiting friends. At this time our railway was not thought of, nor yet our telegraph and telephone systems, now a seeming necessity of our every-day life; hence the utility of so much sleigh-driving in those days. In the narrative we are about to relate we shall aim at giving nothing but the simple facts in every detail, as there are many persons still living who recollect this unfortunate occur- rence, and, therefore, it is the more necessary to be par- ticular in this respect, only the names of the parties be- ing withheld.
A party of four young persons, all unmarried, con- sisting of two ladies, their brother and a lady friend, left their home in Bedeque to visit some friends resid- ing in Summerside, intending to return home the same evening. Being early in the season, the ice had not yet been “bushed” or marked for the travellers, but this
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A Terrible Night on the Ice. 73
they did not mind, as the day was fine, the ice fairly good, and the travelling light and enjoyable. Arriving early at their friend’s house, they spent a pleasant even- ing in social chat and rustic merriment, and it was not till some time after nine o’elock that they thought of re- turning home.
The night was not so fine as the day had been, for a north-easterly wind had sprung up and was increasing with some snow falling ; but no danger was apprehend- ed, as less than an hour’s drive would put them over the dangers of the harber’s ice. But such good fortune was not in store for them. After getting fairly on the ice they found that their former track was completely obliterated, and very soon every object was lost to their view, not even a solitary star could be seen to guide those lonely travellers over that icy waste.
lor some time they drove on and on in the hope of seeing some object, but in vain. At length one of the ladies, growing restless and fearing that they were go- ing astray, observed that either the wind had changed, or they were going in the wrong direction. The young man then left the sleigh and tried to find where they were, but could discover nothing, and now fully realized that they had lost their way. He walked on cautious- ly, leading the horse. The night, in the meantime, grew bitterly cold and stormy, while their uncomfort- able condition from cold and exposure made the situa- tion each moment more perilous, and the time painfully weary.
In this bewildered condition they slowly wandered about in the hope of finding a landing and some shelter
for the night, but in what direction they went, or over 7 :
74 Sea, Forest and Prairie.
What dangers they may have passed, can only be cou jectured,
At last, without the least warning, they were all thrown headlong tnto the freezing waters horse, sleigh, driver, and the three women were all plunged into deep water, without any hope of help. The young man, be- ing in the prime of life, by sheer strength soon succeed ed in getting out on firm ice, and just then observed the glimmer of a distant light ; but to lis dismay he found that there was an sheet of open water between hit and where he saw the light,
There appeared no other way of escape than to swith across the opening to the inner side, and this he succeeded in doing, though with much difficulty, owing to snow and thin ice obstructing his way. Ele had now reached the spot where his two sisters were struggling in the water, and one of them for a time clung to him with that tenacity so common to drowning people ; but the brother told her to make an effort to hold to the ice until he could get out, and then he would save them both. ‘This she did, and with a great effort he sueceed- ed in getting both of lis sisters out of the cold, deep water, but, unfortunately, the lady friend who was with them could not be reached, for she seemed to have got entangled in the sleigh or haraess and soon perished. The brother and sister then made towards the light, struggling on in their half-perishing condition, in’ the face of a blinding snow-storm, This light was about a mile or more distant, and in their benumbed condition they made but slow progress, which became still slower as the elder of the two sisters momentarily grew fainter, and, after bearing up bravely for nearly half a mile,
she het stb) ing Whe thr hac the lon had cull the: ban left
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A ‘Verrible Night on the Lee, 75
she sank down, never to rise again in this life, urging, her brother and sister to gro and save themselves, if pos- sible. Nothing could be done but for the two remain- ingy ones to push on towards the light, and this they did most bravely, although by this time there were two or three inches of snow on the ice, and the clothes they had on were frozen solid ; but every moment brought them nearer relief, and, after what seemed to them many long hours, they finally saw the shore, and found they had at last got to land. Elere, again, was another diffi- culty ; no house was near enough for its inmates to hear their cries for help, and the sister could not get up the bank even with her brother's help ; so there was nothing left to be done but for the brother to leave his. sister and seek help, or else die there with her. With her advice, however, he climbed the bank, and found to his surprise that he was again in Summerside, though how it happened he could not understand. After a short time he got to a house, the alarm was soon given, and the perishing woman was found in the snow and was promptly cared for,
At this time there were shipyards close by and all the men there employed turned out in search of the two per- sons who had perished. It was not yet daylight when the search began, and as it was impossible to learn from the hewildered young man the direction in which they had met their misfortune, the party of searchers burnt tar barrels to aid them in their search, and parties trav- elled in different directions, but all to no purpose, Soon after daylight, however, some articles of clothing were found, a glove in one place, and a victorine further on in another, and so, by following up this clue, the body
76 Sea, Forest and Prairie.
of the sister who had perished on the ice was found. She had sunk down on her knees, and had fallen for- ward on her face, in her dying moments. A temporary bier was made with sticks and her remains were carried to the hotel, where her brother and sister were already being cared for. After this one had been found a party of men, following on in the direction indicated by the bits of clothing, soon found the remaining body, and also the horse and sleigh, all of which were floating on the surface of the water, the woman and the horse be- ing cold in death.
It seemed that some time after leaving Summerside, on their way home, the driver became confused, and, turning his horse toward the harbor’s mouth, had made a right angle to the course he should have followed, and drove directly out towards the open sea, into an opening in the ice, quite across the harbor. At their home the parents had been very uneasy, and the father, in the morning, took a horse and drove with haste to Summerside, arriving shortly after the recovery of his dead child and her companion. The surviving daugh- ter being young, strong and healthy, soon rallied and regained her former strength, and in due time married and reared a family, some of whom are still living near by, the mother having passed away some years ago. The brother is still living, seeming little the worse of his terrible night’s adventure on the ice.
BENJAMIN HOWARD. Summerside, P.E.I.
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PAS To: mg rena ae 3
A STORY OF THE LOYALIST TIMES.
“Well,” said James Stoneham, “I think Stuart and his family are very foolish to live over there on the main- land, as there is a wigwam of Indians three miles to the north of them, and I fancy they don’t like the intru- sion on their hunting grounds. I would like him to come over and build a cabin beside ours ; but, as he ap- pears to think he is in the best place obtainable around here, all that can be done is to warn him of the possible danger he may be in; and we ourselves should keep our eyes open, for they may regard both families as tres- passers, and no one knows what they may do to us.”
“I’m not afraid of them,” said Harry Stoneham ; “anyway, I think your suspicions are groundless ; but, if they should attack us, I’m pretty sure they would meet with a strong resistance.”
The above words were spoken between James Stone- ham and his son. The elder man appeared to be about forty years of age, while Harry was just entering his twenty-first year. Mr. Stoneham had lived in Castine, Maine, and was a descendant of the early colonists. At the close of the Revolutionary War in 1783, wishing to remain true to King George and British institutions, he had sailed with his family from Castine, in a small craft of ten tons. Entering Passamaquoddy Bay they had come up as far as Navy Island, and on its eastern side built a log cabin, living on what provisions they
We ck . Duh aaa ee coe ELITR aS r= cascaaioameaees
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78 Sea, Forest and Prairie.
had brought with them, and on fish, which were plenti- ful in the bay. . The Stuart family, to whom Mr. Stone- ham referred, consisted of Mr. Stuart, his wife, and their two children—Charles, who was eighteen years old, and Jean, one year his junior. They had been neighbors to the Stonehams, in Castine, and, being Loyalists also, had accompanied them East ; but, instead of choosing the island as their home, preferred to settle on the main- land, near the shore, and almost opposite the Stoneham dwelling, which was a mile across the water ; although at low tide a reef connected the mainland and the island, so that a person might walk from one to the other.
The day following his talk with his father, Harry Stoneham, with his brother George, who was several years younger than himself, and Charlie Stuart, went partridge hunting on the mainland. They had bagged considerable game, when Chariie saw a crow ona small bush, some distance from where he stood. “Look there,” he whispered to his companion, “watch me knock him over.” Then he fired and the bird fell, but what startled all was a loud scream immediately after the report of the gun, and about a stone’s throw from behind the bush, where the crow had been sitting.
Hurrying to the spot they found, sitting on a rock, a young squaw, holding one hand over her right ear, which was bleeding profusely. “Oh, I’m so sorry,” exclaimed Charlie, “I didn’t know you were here when I fired. Take my handkerchief and try to stop the blood.” But, apparently not understanding him, she gave a grunt and then disappeared in the woods.
“That is a bad piece of business,” said Harry ; “we had better hunt up their wigwam, and make an apology
re ie
erate OEE ena
A Story of the Loyalist Times. 79
of some kind, for, if they get it into their heads that you did it purposely, Charlie, they will be down on us, that is certain. We don’t want that to occur, although I am not of the opinion they would molest us in any way.”
They all agreed it was the best thing to be done, and accordingly, started off to find the wigwam ; but, when they arrived at the place they supposed it to be no trace of it could be found, except the marks of a camp fire and a few bones here and there. As it was growing dark they thought it would be better to put off the search till the next day.
That night, in the two cabins, the parents of the boys were told by them what had occurred, and seemed to take the matter very gravely indeed, knowing well the Indian instinct of revenge; but, as the boys declared they would try to conciliate the Indians as soon as pos- sible, they thought everything would be well; but in this, as we shall see, they were mistaken.
At about five o’clock the next morning the inmates of the Stoneham cabin were aroused by loud knocking at the door. Opening it, they found Mr. and Mrs. Stuart, with Charlie and Jean. Mr. Stuart hurriedly exclaimed, “Get your guns ready, and put the place in a state of defence in as short a time as you can. You may expect Indians here pretty soon.” Quickly the great oaken bar was put across the door, and against that they piled up the short full logs, which lay beside the fireplace. An old chest was split apart, and, with the boards the four windows, one on each side of the cabin, were covered, except a small crevice in each, through which to shoot.
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80 Sea, Forest and Prairie.
While these preparations were going on Charlie told the Stonehams the reason for their receiving such an early visit. He had mink traps set throughout the woods and this morning had gone to attend to them early, since he wanted to get through before breakfast time. When he had reached the one farthest away from home he saw a bright light gleaming through the frost, about a quarter of a mile ahead. Advancing cautiously he peered through the trees, and saw, gath- ered around a large brush fire, some twenty or thirty Indians, with their pappooses and squaws, among whom was the one he had accidentally shot. All the company were talking excitedly, and several times one of them pointed to the wounded squaw, and then, with an angry look, first to the Stuart home, and next, to that of the Stonehams. Fach buck had a tomahawk in his belt, and a large spot of red paint on his right cheek. Charlie knew that the Indians of that locality dubbed their face, instead of their entire body, when bent on any hostile expedition; so the thought flashed through his mind that harm was intended to both white families. Hurrying home, he roused his father, and told him what he had seen.
From his son’s story Mr. Stuart was certain that the Indians were going to attack the cabins. Awaking his wife and Jean, he told them of the danger; and, knowing that if the two families were together they would be bet- ter able to hold out, he and Charlie got their guns and ammunition, and the “strong box,” containing what small funds the family possessed, and, taking Mrs. Stuart and Jean, rowed over in their dingey to the Stoneham cabin. What occurred there we have already seen.
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A Story of the Loyalist Times. 81
And now they waited for whatever course events would take. Nor was that long. The time of the year was November, and it was an hour and a half before sunrise. Looking across the harbor, through the early dusk, from a device in the window, they saw flames sud- denly leap from the Stuart house, and soon all of it was enveloped,
“Ah,” said Mr. Stuart, as he stood watching the con- flagration, “the villains, not finding us there, have set fire to the place, as part of their revenge for the wound- ing of that squaw. « It is low tide, and, as the reef is bare, we may expect them across here in a short time.”
Gradually the fire of the burning cabin died away. A few minutes later, Mr. Stuart saw several forms, hold- ing firebrands, creeping up to the cabin. He took aim and fired at them, and a loud yell was the response, fol- lowed by a series of whoops, showing the settlers that their fears were realized. Mr. Stoneham and Mr. Stuart and the boys, each with a gun, took places at the different windows, and whenever any figure could 5e seen approaching the cabin they opened fire, although a sure aim was difficult, because of the darkness.
At length the stock of ammunition, after continued firing, became low; till, at last, only one charge re- mained; then this too was gone. The besiegers were not long in perceiving this fact, and accordingly drew nearer the dwelling. The firebrands had now smoul- dered away, and, as the tide was turned, and overflowed the reef, there were no means of returning to their camp to procure any more for a number of hours yet, when it would be low tide again. The windows of the log cabin were very small, and placed near the eaves;
Hi 1) tiided
My
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82 Sea, Forest and Prairie.
therefore, they tried to gain an entrance by taking a suicll log lying outside, and using it as a battering-ram against the door.
Meanwhile the boys and their fathers, each with an axe in his hands, were waiting for the door to be broken in, when, they were resolved, they would sell their lives as dearly as possible. Jean, her mother and Mrs. Stone- ham were silently praying that, in some way, they might be rescued from the cruel death that seemed to be awaiting them.
Suddenly, “Bang, bang, bang !” is heard; the Indians leave off trying to force the doors and run to the woods. Those in the cabin look out through the crack in the window, and see, marching up from the shore, firing as they come at the retreating Indians, a company of ma- rines. The logs are removed from the cabin doors; it is thrown open, and hearty are the thanks given to the rescuers. Off in the harbor, lying at anchor, is His Majesty's ship “Defender,” Captain Spencer, and in the light of the sunrise St. George’s Ensign is flying proudly from the mast.
Captain Spencer had been ordered from Halifax to distribute farming impiements and a year’s provisions to all Loyalist settlers along the northern coast of the Bay of Fundy. Sailing up the Passamaquoddy in the night, he had arrived in the harbor, which Navy Island makes with the mainland, in time to see what was taking place on the island, and to send the aid, which came none too early. As soon as the captain had learned the events that occurred before his arrival he placed a guard on the reef, so that the escape of the Indians would be cut off when the cide again ebbed; with the remainder
pers
= Se et ee wt Spteme ey eee ieee
A Story of the Leyalist Times. 83
of his crew he scoured the island for them. One by one the redskins were captured, till at length the entire band were secured and taken on board the man-of-war; however, two died from wounds, caused by shots fired from the cabin.
The families received their farming utensils and pro- visions, both being very acceptable. This was the last attack Indians ever made on the settlers in that part of New Brunswick. The captives were taken by Captain Spencer to Halifax, where, according to law, they were executed, In a short time the Stuarts, with the help of the Stoneham family, rebuilt their home; and the fol- lowing spring a number of Loyalists came from Hart- ford, Connecticut, taking up land near Mr. Stuart; the small settlement thus formed was the beginning of the present town of Saint Andrew. Among those who came from Hartford was the Reverend Samuel An- drews, who, some years later, had the pleasure of tying the matrimonial knot that fastened Harry Stoneham and Jean Stuart. Many descendants of them are living at the present time, and, if you come to Saint Andrews, they may show you the sites of the log cabins, whose inmates were the chief figures in this “Story of the Loy- alist Times.”
GEO. H. WISELEY. St. Andrew’s, N.B.
INDIAN REMINISCENCES.
In our recollection of the past perhaps nothing in- terests us more than the vivid and touching Indian stories which are not yet dead, and their very age and strangeness clothes them with new life and curiosity. And prominent among the stories which have come to us on the wings of song we might name the immortal “Open Hand,” which has won more than local admira- tion, the material for which is an old Indian legend in connection with Maductic Fort, situated ten miles below the town of Woodstock on the right bank of our be- loved, lovely and romantic River St. John.
“We recall the trio story, Of the ancient days of yore;
Played by Indian, French and Britain On its thus romantic shore.”
The bitter hatred existing between the French and English during the time of early settlement rendered colonization and the progress of civilization almost im- possible. soth England and France claimed posses- sion, and each tried to win the Indians to their side, and their aid when gained for a time was most uncertain and slippery. It gave neither side any decided advan- tage. ‘The savages in this middle condition kept up an almost continual repetition of destructive raids and mer- ciless massacres, first on one party and then on the
Fea in- ndian e and losity, ne to iortal mira- nd in below ir be-
1 and lered t im: ySSes- side, rtain lvan- Ip an mer- 1 the
Indian Reminiscences. 85
other. For the least trifle, and many times without the slightest cause, an exterminating raid was brought about. In short, the most degraded form of “guerilla warfare” was instigated and encouraged by both English and French against each other’s interests, and in most cases it was the poor and innocent settler who would be surprised by a sudden and fiendish war-whoop. He might be allowed to retain life, to see his loved one dis- patched with the tomahawk and his beloved home given over to the flames—prolonged torture to amuse the curious brutality of the degraded and accursed red-skin was his doom. Mercy in his savage breast is dead, ever since “ages primeyal’—as Longfellow would ex- press it. Therefore, tears and words are vain.
The genius of Wolfe brought to a sudden close this state of affairs, on a brilliant, indeed, immortal field.
Let me go back to the story of Open Hand, and let me relate the chief facts that are still bright in memory’s casket; although it is now some few years since I had the pleasure of reading that well-written poem. The hero in said story was George Milbourne, called “Open Hand” because of his generosity to all who knew him, He was born and spent his youthful days at or near Casco, on Penobscot, which there winds its way through rocky steeps and flowery vales until it reaches the bay of the same name. He developed into a sturdy war- rior, and on reaching manhood joined the noble aid gallant rangers, a kind of society whose object it was to protect the villages from the ravages and indignities of the Indians. His skill and daring soon elevated him to the position of Captain. While on duty in a skirm- ish with his foes he was unfortunately struck by a cruel
86 Sea, Forest and Prairie.
ball and wounded, but fortunately not fatally. [Te was carried from where he fell to a cottage near and there had the fortune in his hours of suffering to be loved by a young lnelish lady of noble character and culture. Our gallant Open Hand, being [English wi blood and taste, a happy marriage was the result; and, having made a little, yet comfortable home, the loving couple lived in peace and quietude for some years.
But the final war between Mrance and Eneland put the Indians on the warpath, and our hero was again to be a leader. Having been attacked by one of the most daring of the Indian warriors, Open Eland knew. that they were no longer friendly. Ele called a meeting of villagers, and decided on going immediately to some place better suited for the repulsion of their foes. They were to start next morning, = An Indian whom Open Hand had befriended appeared suddenly in the settle- ment and warned them to prepare for an instant attack, as their enemies were already within a short distance. Our hero with his friends tried to reach the church, but the savages were too near, and a terrible battle ensued, in which all were killed but five men who escaped; and Open Eland and his wife and two children and a young woman were taken prisoners. The five fell upon the savages in the mght after the fight and rescued Open Uand, while the rest were taken by the savages under the direction of Hartel the Frenchman, away to Maduc- tic Fort. Open Hand and his comrades began to march directly to Maductic to rescue his loved ones ; but meeting a party of Indians they were forced to fight and two of his soldiers were killed, and the march was abandoned for a time.
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was
Indian Reminiscences, 87
Three times during the autumn he asked Commander Murray of Quebee to let him have a few soldiers, and was refused. Tle next went to General Amherst at Sorel and made the same request, but, as peace had heen declared, Amherst could not send men to make war upon the Irench settlements, As Open [land was a favorite with all who knew him, a Captain Rogers re- signed his office, and volunteered to help the hero in the rescue. ‘Two bundred men followed suit) and marched to Maduetie. ‘The Indians havng attended the marriage of one of the chief's daughters, were all cclebrating the event with a drunken spree when the soldiers entered the fort. Indeed the entire garrison was in somewhat the same condition as Cyrus found Great Rabylon of old when he entered. = Truly history repeats itself and the woes of intoxication are repeated with the same, present and eternal, effect too soon. The rescuing band did their work ap quickly and most completely. Open Hand’s trusty sword—one which his father had used in the British Army—now made wholesale havoc, to the satisfaction of one exasperated to despair. Commandant Roberts and wife are the only ones who escape in the darkness to bring the tale of wholesale slaughter to light. © the joy of meeting between a husband that has been as though dead and the wife who suffered such indignities at the hands of the red-skins, and who had experienced the horror of seeing her baby slaughtered by her worst foe, Black- snake,
You see that Carleton County was the arena of one of the most romantic stories in, perhaps, the complete annals of Canadian history. Maductic being the most
88 Sea, Forest and Prairie.
central of the chain of forts which the Irench built from the Bay of Fundy to St. Lawrence waters, was by far the strongest and most important. And even now tour- ists and pleasure-seekers come from all parts to look at the old mounds and enjoy the delightful scenery. Maducetie flat is about 4oo acres in extent, and very level. A small grove of hazel and cherry trees are to be seen in the middle: beneath are the mounds and the remains of the old Indian burying-ground. Near by is the exact site of the once famed fort now desolate and decayed as Babylon the Great. A Short distance below we can see a small mountain of iron pyrites, and not far above is the celebrated Maductic Falls, and on a small tributary within a few furlongs we can visit what is known as Hay’s Falls. Messrs. Brown, Hay and Jolinston are the owners of farms on this flat, and each has in his possession a large and varied collection of old relics which have been ploughed and dug up at dif- ferent times—old pistols and parts of firearms of curi- ous patterns, hatchets, French muskets, arrow-heads by the bushel, coins of old date, giant human bones and skulls, broken spears and a host of other curiosi- ties, worthy of a place in the chief museums and anti- quarian collections of the world.
Perhaps, if I continue, the limits of my paper will be exceeded. I will close, claiming for Carleton County, at least, a place in the past history of our country, be- cause the far-famed Maductic was within the limits. And, as a student of one of the best schools in said County, I candidiy affirm that such thrilling and ro- mantic facts have a burning interest in the mind of every one worthy the name of a Camadian. And, fur-
fndian Reminiscences. 89
rom e far our-
look
ther, they have a greater charm to my mind than any Hy form of fiction, or the combined grandeur of Roman storv or Grecian lore.
LELAND L. CLARK, lery. very Centreville P.O., Carleton Co., N.B. eto | the r by plate ance and i don what
and
each n of t dif- curi- reads ones “JOsi- anti-
AN ADVENTURE ON THE ICE.
On January 27, 1885, three ice-boats, containing twenty-two persons in all, fifteen boatmen and seven passengers, left Cape Traverse, P.E.L, with Her Maj- esty’s mails, bound for Cape Tormentine, N.B. The sufferings of these men were, perhaps, as severe as any ever experienced by the hardy adventurers to the frozen North, and those in command of the party displayed as much bravery, hardihood and patience, as has ever been displayed by the honored heroes in search of the North Pole.
When the boats, under the command of Capts. Muncy Irving, Newton Muttart, and Hanford Allen, left the board ice at 9.15 a.m., everything betokened a fine day. After travelling for about two hours, a stiff north-east breeze sprang up, which increased in vio- lence until it became one of the most terrific gales ever experienced on the strait. The terrible tempest was accompanied by a blinding snow-storm, so dense that it was impossible to discern an object even at a short distance. The thermometer fell to 21 deg. below zero, and then their sufferings began.
The storm increased so rapidly that before they had travelled many hours they became so completely bewil- dered that they did not know where they were going. They, however, pushed steadily in the direction which their compass indicated ; but, not considering the rapid-
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An Adventure on the Ice. oI
itv with which the tide and ice were running, they were carried considerably out of their course.
The men toiled on, drawing their boats over hum- mocks and sheets of ice, rowing them through fields of water and **lolly,” until exertion began at length to tell upon the strongest arm, and the stoutest heart grew faint. Already it was growing dark, and the fearful thought that they would not reach land before night- fall, and that, perhaps, they had missed their way and had been wandering in the wrong direction, passed through their minds. If such were the case, and it seemed to be, they would have to spend the night on the ice, and perish they certainly wou. i in such a night as that with so little to keep them warm. They hoped, however, that after darkness came on their friends would light the lamps in the lighthouse on Cape Tor- mentine side, and if this were done they felt sure that they would be able to see it ; but, although the lights were lit, and the strongest reflectors put on, which, in clear weather would enable the light to be seen fifty miles, yet so dense was the storm that even at the short distance at which they were from the land they failed to see it. So in the darkness they wandered on until six o'clock.
Having no lantern they could not see their compass, and therefore further progress that night seemed use- less. They, therefore, went to work to make them- selves as comfortable as possible under the circum- stances. Drawing their boats up on a large field of ice they turned them up on their sides and huddled around them on the lee side, using the more empty of the mail bags and such baggage as would serve for coverings to
Q2 Sea, Forest and Prairie.
keep them warm. But what were these against such a night as that. They soon found that unless they could get some other means of warmth they would all in a short time perish. Accordingly they opened the bags, took out the letters, and used the papers and bags for fuel. But these could not last long, and having proved by what little heat they gave that life could be sustained they resolved to have something more. Capt. Hans- ford Allen volunteered his boat, and soon she was broken up and burning with the papers. The poor men now supposed they could keep alive until morning. The night dragged wearily along until about two a.m., when the wind changed to the north-west.
Shortly after this one of the men who had wandered away from the fire returned and announced that the ice was breaking up all around them. Gathering up their pieces of burning boat, and whatever else they had, they turned down their boats, and drew them about one- quarter of a mile nearer the centre of the field of ice ; then, turning them up again, they rekindled their fire. Happily, they had plenty of food, consisting of bread and meat, and so long as it and the boat lasted they iioped for life. The storm and the cold continued, so they staved in this place until three o’clock in the af- ternoon. Their stock of fuel was now running low, and if land were not sighted soon they must all die. All day long they had kept a sharp lookout for land, but nothing could be seen. At last one of the men ex- claimed, “Land ahoy !” and, turning towards the east, all hands saw the steeple of De Sable church when the next cloud of snow had passed by.
Soon the straps were once more over their able
nen ing, 1.101.,
ered e ice their had, one- ice } fire. bread they , 80 e af- low, All
, but
An Adventure on the Ice. 03
shoulders, and the men were bending again to their work. But with what difficulty they travelled! Their clothes were frozen solid ; their feet, hands and faces were frozen, and some of the passengers were so stiff they had to be drawn into the boat. The difficulty of travelling was great. The “lolly” was so thick and the ice running so fast that little headway could be made.
At 4.35 p.m. they reached the board ice off Argyle shore, and then Capt. Allen and one of the boatmen started for the land. The snow had drifted on the ice to the depth of about two feet, so that progress was but slow. After three hours the two men reached the shore. ‘They went up from the ice to the land, but were so bewildered and blind that they passed several houses without knowing it. They were about to pass another, when they smelt smoke, but failing to see any house they shotited for help. The occupant of the house, upon hearing their cries, hastened to their relief. They were soon ushered into the warmth of a hospitable kit- chen, where they recovered sufficiently to explain the condition of the men on the ice. The good old farmer soon spread the news, and a body of men were not long’ in preparing for the expedition. After a time tney reached the boats, but found that all the men had left except those who were unable to walk. The boats were as speedily as possible drawn to the land and the perishing men cared for. |
Some of those who wandered away from the boats found their way to houses, others into barns, and some into the woods. One poor fellow who wandered into the woeds caught hold of a branch to keep himself from falling into the snow, and in this condition they found
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94 Sea, Forest and Prairie.
him in an unconscious state. He had such a firm hoid that his grasp could not be loosened, so that they had to break off the branch and take it along with him.
As may well be supposed, the anxiety of their friends and relations was great. At Cape Tormentine an ice- boat had been fitted up with provisions and clothing, and a crew of the ablest and bravest men were in wait- ing for the train to take them and their boat down to Pictou, where they intended to set out in search of those who, it was supposed, had perished, when a despatch was received that they had safely landed on the other side.
But their sufferings lasted for a good while after they landed. Their limbs had to be thawed out, and in sume cases amputated. With some their health was so com- pletely broken that it was not long before they were laid beneath the sod in their own country churchyard, instead of under the snow and ice on Northumberland Strait. The majority are still living, and doubtless they will never forget their terrible adventure on the ice. EDWARD J. DOBSON.
Cape Tormentine, N.B.
*NOTE.—The writer says in regard to the word “lolly :’—*You will please excuse me if | say a word of two about my story. Doubtless that word “lolly” is one which you are not familiar with. When I wrote my story I could not find it in any dictionary, so I came to the conclusion that it must be a local word ; how it originated 1 do not know, unless it is from the way in which the boats loll around or roll about in it. It means ice which has been broken into very small pieces
wm aes 4 SY
An Adventure on the Ice. 95
by the jamming together of the ice-fields, moved quite rapidly by the tide and wind. This powdered ice often extends miles in length and breadth, and is sometimes several feet deep. Being so much more stiff and heavy than slush, it is dreaded and shunned by the boatmen very much, for often after several hours of the most arduous toil only a few hundred yards of headway is made. The story is perfectly true and original, as it happened within my own recollection, and some of my friends were with the crew. By ja
SIEGE OF THE FORT OF ST. JOHNS.
St. Johns is a picturesque town situated on the bcau- tiful river Richelieu. It is peopled by about six thou- sand inhabitants, who dwell within its boundaries in perfect security, seldom thinking of and never fully rea- lizing the scenes of strife and bloodshed which took place here one hundred and fifteen years ago.
The first fertification erected on the present site of the town of St. Johns was built by the order of M. De Tracy in the year 1748, but this fort was destroyed by M. De Roquemauri soon after the battle of the Plains, and during the fifteen years of peace which followed its ashes were not disturbed. In 1775, however, Sir Guy Carleton caused it to be rebuilt in order to stop the de- structive raids of the Green Mountain boys, and it was during the same year that the most exciting events in the history of the present town took place.
On September 16, 1775, General Schuyler landed at the mouth of the Montgomery Creek, about a mile and a-half from St. Johns; but his force of one thousand four hundred men were defeated by a few Canadians and Indians. On the following day General Montgom- erv landed at the mouth of the same stream; the main body of his army was barricaded at this place, a bat- talion under Major Brown was encamped on the north side of the fort, and a battery was placed on the east side. Thus the fort was entirely surrounded, and its
2
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Siege of the Fort of St. Johns. 07
only way of communication between Chambly and Hit Montreal was by we river. The garrison consisted of the Royal lusiliers, the 26th Regiment, and about one hundred and twenty French-Canadian volunteers, head- ed by M. De Longueuil. The whole was commanded by Major Preston.
-au- g Qn the 18th the latter sent out a party of soldiers to 10tl- | bring in some cattle that were in a bush near St. Johns, | s in ' and on their return they informed him that two or three rea- : hundred Americans were en the other side of a bridge ook d about half a league from the town ; that they were for- tifving their position, and that they had captured four
e of cart-loads of provisions which were being carried to St.
De Johns, as well as the cattle sent for ; they had also de- 1 by stroyed the bridge, so that communication was cut off UNS, between St. Johns and Laprairie. A force under Cap-
1 its tain Strong was despatched at once to beat back the in-
uy vaders. This they succeeded in doing, taking four
de- prisoners.
was On the 22nd a deserter came from the enemy’s camp,
s in and informed our defenders that they were building a
battery on Big Point, and that their entire force con-
dat sisted of three hundred men in camp, five hundred and : blockading the fort and two hundred spread over the 1 and % country. ape ians : On October 20, General Montgomery sent a mes-
om- : senger to Major Preston to inform him that the fort of
1ain Chambly had surrendered after a siege of thirty-six
bat- | hours,
orth : On November 1 the enemy kept up a fire on the fort
east for seven hours after which General Montgomery sent
a letter demanding him to surrender. The letter gave
98 Sea, lorest and Prairie.
account of General Carleton’s defeat, which assured hin that he need not expect any help from that quarter. So on the following day, November 2, 1775, Major Preston surrendered the fort of St. Johns to General Montgomery of the United States army, after having gallantly defended it for over two months.
MAITLAND ST. G, DAVIES. St. Johns, P.Q.
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A RAID ON THE SP. FRANCIS INDIANS.
When Wolfe captured Quebec, in 17509, a division of the French forces was stationed in a strong position at Isle-aux-Noix, on Lake Champlain, and for some time prevented the English from entering Canada by that their opponent, Géneral Amherst, who had command of the British at Ticonderoga and Crown Point, did not think it advisable to attempt dislodging them till he had a better naval force.
While he was bringing this about he resolved that he would put a stop to the incursions of the St. Francis Indians (Abenquitns), who had been making raids on the frontier colonists and carrying away their wives and children. ‘This tribe had their headquarters at the mouth of the St. Francis River, where there was quite a village, called St. Francis.
Major Rogers, an officer of the Colonial force, was a sufferer from these incursions, his wife and children having been murdered during his absence from home. He was so enraged at this that he immediately proceed- ed to Amherst and desired to be given command of the expedition, which, it was hoped, would put an end to the cruelties of the Indians.
His wish was complied with, and, with a body of two hundred provincials, thoroughly accustomed to Indian warfare, he embarked on Lake Champlain, Oct. Ist, and proceeded down the lake to Missisquoi Bay. He
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concealed Tis boats anne the bushes and advanced into the wilderness,
While cneamped on the east shore of the Take a bar rel of gunpowder exploded, injuring a number of lis men, Phese had to be sent home, thus redtetge his foree to one Lundred and forty two. Phe boats whieh he had concealed were found by a party of Preneh and Indians, who at onee started in pursuit.
Rogers reached St. lraneis on the fourth, at tisk. Disguising himself tn an tndian costume, whieh) he brought for that purpose, he proceeded to reconnoitre the village. Tle found the Tndians engaged ina erand danee, which was continued tl four o'clock, when they retired to rest, completely work out.
Then) Rogers, whose wrath had been boiling for months, having stationed his men in the most favorable positions, made the attack. Phe Indians were taken completely by surprise; and, as most of the braves were away hunting and fishing, not much resistance was made. “The Colonials adopted the Tndian mode of warfare, and sealped and butchered without merey. Their rage rose still higher when they beheld the sealps of several hundred of their countrymen dangling from poles. Out of the three hundred inhabitants, two hun- dred were killed on the spot. A considerable quantity of plunder was taken from the little church. = Some
golden candlesticks are mentioned as being among’ the booty.
Having been informed that the French and Indians who had taken their boats were near, Rogers at once began to retreat by way of the St. Francis River,
In the meantime, a number of the warriors had _ re-
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A Raid oon the St. Praneis Dndians, bot
turned, and, a couned having been held, they decided that part of them should follow Rogers at once, and as many as could be called in should come and join them the following day. This was done, and with their com- bined forces they came up with him at Kingsey. A skirmish took place, in whieh the Tndians were driven back, losinge several men, This so disheartened some of the braves that they wished to abandon the pursuit at once; but they were persuaded to continue on to the “Litthe Forks” (now Lennoxville), the junction of the Massawippi and St. Francis rivers, and there to give battle onee more,
Rogers rushed on as rapidly as possible, and on the tenth reached an elevated point near the “Bigs Morks” (Sherbrooke), the meeting of the Magog and St. Mran- cis, ‘The residence of Colonel Bowen, Melbourne street, is near this point,
rom this spot the flats below Sherbrooke can be seen for nearly two miles, and a fairly good view of the river obtained. Rogers, being tired of being pursued, saw that was a favorable place for an ambush, and he hoped to be able to give the enemy such a chastisement as would put an end to any further annoyance.
Ile sent a few of his men on to the “Little lorks” to build fires, as if the whole party were intending to camp there for the night. Then he posted the remain- der of his men along the south shore in the most ad- vantageous spots, with orders for each to cover a single Indian as they came past in their canoes, but in no case to fire until ordered.
The Indian scouts, following on the Ascot or north side of the river, had seen the fires at “Little Forks,”
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a2 Sea, Forest and Prairie.
and hastened back to inform the main body, whieh at onee came on, Rovers allowed about half of them to pass, when he gave the signal to fire, and so carefully did cach man take aim that almost every savage on the river was killed or mortally wounded,
Those on the north bank had got on in advance of the party on the river, and on hearing the firing: they at once came back to aid their comrades. An irregular skirmish took place, in which the Colonials had the ad- vantage, for, being sheltered by the thick forest on the upland, they could pour their fire with deadly effeet on the Indians in the open glade below. There were then, as now, not many trees on the flat. The banks of the river were covered with undergrowth which did) not afford much shelter, Finally, the Indians drew off, after losing nearly the whole of their party. — Rogers ~ s orders to go on to the “Little Forks.” Here he
‘essed the men, thanking them for their assistance in ridding the country of their foes, and, having resigned his command, advised them to form small parties, as they would thus get more game, and to proceed to the rendezvous on the Connecticut. The sufferings which some of the parties endured before reaching Crown Point were very severe.
The plunder which they had taken was entrusted to one of these parties. At one time, hearing firing, and, thinking it was the enemy, they buried it in what they considered a safe place, and continued their march un- encumbered. Tradition has assigned many places as the spot where the treasure was buried; but, up to the present, no trace has been found of it, or, if there has been, it has been kept secret.
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A Raid on the St. Francis Indians. 103
A rumor was lately circulated that some of this plun- der was concealed in the Magog River, just above the mouth, This river falls one hundred and fourteen feet in the short distance of half a mile from: its junction with the St. Mraneis. All along the bed are holes or pockets, worn in the solid rock, probably by stones be- ing whirled round by the force of the rapids. — ft was in those “pockets” that the buried treasure was sup- posed to be, The pond above was drained and a search instituted, which, however, met with no suecess,
Some of the men took a course up the St. lfraneis, on to the Eaton river, A bayonet was recently found, supposed to have been dropped by that party, which may now be seen in the museum of the Morey Art Building, Sherbrooke.
In 1852, when the St. L. and A. RR. Company were cutting the bank south of Colonel Bowen's house, a number of flintlocks, skulls and Indian weapons were found. A gentleman, while preparing a tennis court near the same place, also found traces of this engage- ment,
It is with horror and disgust that we read of such bloody massacres, but it must be remembered that, at that tine, with an Indian, pity was unknown, and any- thing like mercy was considered a mark of cowardice.
The scene of this engagement is a little north of the centre of Sherbrooke city.
A. L. PARKER. Sherbrooke, P.Q.
AN EVERY DAY HERO,
My story will be a short and simple one—-ouly an incident in the life of a Chateauguay boy. I say a boy, for he died before he reached his twentieth year. The title might seem worthy of a better sketch, but I think often that a seemingly simple action, one that might re- main unknown but to a few who were immediately con- nected with the actors, is often prompted by stronger and higher motives ‘han those that have gained the praise of nations. A man who will lead thousands of his countrymen out to be slain, only to prove the stub- borness ot a fraction, is more often made a hero than aman who in some crisis will give his life for a friend. Yet we are told “greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friend,” and love must be the highest and purest motive of action.
To begin my story I will give a short sketch of the lives of the parents of my hero. On the river Chateau- guay that runs through the beautiful valley, of which we natives are so proud, there lived in the first half of the present century a farmer who had emigrated from the south of Scotland, bringing with him his wife and family, consisting of three boys and two girls. On ar- riving at Montreal the boys all died of ship fever, and the dauntless man, leaving his sons in an unmarked grave in a strange country, with the remainder of his family pushed towards the West, travelling on foot
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An Every Day Hero, 105
and carrying with them their few possessions. Coming to the Chateauguay river this was followed till they came upon a little settlement of Scotch people. Here the weary and disheartened travellers were received with the usual warmth and kind-heartedness of Scotch- men when they meet ina new country with people from their own land. Here the farmer finally settled.
Burying his sorrow under his native quietness he set to work to make himself and family a home, and some years after, when, by dint of carefulness and thrift, they had overcome most of the hardships of the 1ew coun- try, another son was born, who, in the father’s and mother’s fond imaginations and pictures of the future, was to be the comfort of their old age.
The lad grew quickly to be a bright, active boy, who, in summer time, helped his father on the farin, and in winter went to the district school. His teacher was a man who had spent the earlier years of his life at sea, and still carried an old sailor’s liking for all that related to ocean life. The farmer’s son, who we shall call Sandy, and another boy named Neil, a near neighbor and intimate friend of Sandy, soon became their teach- er’s chief favorites. The man, having neither family nor relatives, lived a lonely life, and, enjoying the com- panionship of his two boy friends, encouraged them to spend their spare hours and evenings in his little log cottage. Here the boys were entertained with long stories of sea life, wonderful sights and adventures, and shown many relics or mementoes of past voyages in the way of shells, woods from foreign countries and rocks; but the great delight of all was a full-rigged
ship in miniature, which the boys were allowed to ex- H
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hot Sea, Morest and Prairie,
amine, wine ther old schoolmaster explained: the dif ferent parts and them uses, and the meantug of the tat tread fernas,
AT this was interesting and amusing, but it was aradtally qwakentag dn them a desire for something Dbevond what them staple Tite held out for then, Vo reaely the sea, to satbover it to countries that they lad only heard of, became to them the hemht of their an Ditton, Phere teacher had no imtention of beguiling the thoughts of these bovs away from their home and dis appotmting there parents in the plans they had laid for thei future when they would prow up steady and weil dot farmers, taking their place amongst the pros- perous and ttluential of their community. This, how ever Was not to be. As summer and winter passed by, these lads clung quietly and steadily to their pur- pose, and would meet each other in ian old log barn on a vacant tot, and there tn the summer evenings would talk over the future and its possibilities, Neither shun- Ning ner avoiding other boys of their own age, but be- img drawn together in their mutual hopes, there sprany up a friendship between the two which was soon to be put to a severe test.
As a step toward the goal of their ambition, and be- cause the sea seemed at first almost beyond their reach, the two Tads in the spring of their eighteenth year crossed over to the American side, where the larger rivers and lakes were then navigated,and soon they both got employment on a steamboat running between some of the lake ports. One summer passed away quickly to them, and they went back to their homes for the winter months. Here they were received by their
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An livery Day Hero, 107
vouthful companions, and even by the older people, as heroes almost, or as young men who had seen not a lit He of the outside world, with its wonders and adven Hires, Their old) schoolmaster regarded them with great admiration and pride, encouraging: them to work toward a higher position, On the return of spring they again deft their homes to return to their work. This time their parents fell more pride than regret at their groinpy, and many of them young: friends felt. that these two were stepping: beyond them. Going to work again, all went well for a time; both the young: men were advanced in them work, The boat's crew noticed the attachment between the two, and the pride they each took in the other's success, and often made fun of them for i but one would champion the other, and it seemed only to draw them closer together,
One evening in August, as their boat was going: from Saginaw Day, on Lake Puron, to some port further west, Neil, the older of the two friends, was wateh for the night on deck. After all hands had gone down to their bunks he noticed flame suddenly burst from below the deck right behind the engine-room, shutting off the latter half of the ship from where he was. [le gave the warn, arousal the erew, then went quickly below to find his friend, whose cabin was close to the engine. While he was making his way down th. are had reached the machinery, and it stopped working, On reaching his friend’s cabin, either from the bursting of boilers, or from escaping steam, he found that he was terribly scalded about the body, and had both of his legs off or broken ; yet he was still alive. IHfis brave friend raised him in his arms and carried him on deck. Flere, they
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Bt ey ba & tia T i A b
108 Sea, Forest and Prairie.
found that the boats had pushed off, and they were left with two or three other unfortunates, who were prepar- ing to swim to the shore. Sandy begged of Neil to leave him and swim to the shore with the others. His friend firmly but steadily refused to take the means of safety that others were offering him if his friend could not be saved as well. Neil said he could never go home and tell how he had left his friend to such a horrible death. Meanwhile, the fire was rapidly reach- ing them, and his companions had already sprung into the lake ; so, seizing his companion, he followed them into the darkneess. On the following morning the survivors were gathered together on the shore, and the dead bodies that had been washed up by the waves were identified. The bodies of the two friends were found close together, and those who were on the deck with the two told how they clung to each other to the last. News was sent home to the Chateauguay valley of the sad death of the two young lads, who were buried on the shores of the lake where they met their death.
This incident was told me by the niece of one of the young men, and, though it serves to prove no point in the history of our country, it may show that heroes may be found in out-of-the-way places and amidst com- monplace surroundings.
LIZZIE A. BAIRD. Ormstown, P.Q. .
ter: unl nat 1ef the SiO 3o0t Or! tim the; [ alle Ma can ily
2 left epar- il to His 1eans riend never uch a each- yr into them e the id the waves were > deck to the valley buried ath. of the bint in heroes com-
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THE EXTINCTION OF A NATION.
When the solitude of the primeval forest was invaded, and European voices first re-echoed in the hitherto un- disturbed wilds of the New World, the Huron or Wyan- dot Indians were almost as numerous and powerful as their hereditary and implacable enemies, the Iroquois.
Where is their ancient glory now? They have dwin- dled and disappeared, and their descendants, half-breeds, scarcely know or care for the ancient legends of the by-gone pow-wow or scalping raid, which, for years, were handed down from father to son by tradition.
Harassed by repeated wars and incursions into their territory, and terrified by the cruelties practised on all unhappy captives by the vindictive Iroquois, the rem- nants of the poor Hurons at last determined to seek 1efge near some military station of the French, where they might hope for protection. In charge of a mis- sionary, Pierre Ragueneau, they fled to Quebec on the 30th July, 1650, and were given land on the island of Orleans, at a part since called L’Anse du Fort. Atthe time of their arrival they were about four hundred, but their number was augmented by refugees of the tribe.
But, even so close to the French fort, they were not allowed to dwell in peace. On the night of the roth of May, 1656, under cover of darkness, the light birch canoes of the Iroquois glided noiselessly, swiftly, stead- ily down the broad river, and, when morning dawned,
110 Sea, Forest and Prairie.
the French heard that another horrible outrage had been perpetrated, that the Iroquois had discovered the asylum of their foes, massacred six, and carried off eighty-six to torture and death. And as they paddled triumphantly up past the town they mocked the Irench upon the heights, for their inability to preserve the Hu- rons from the attacks of their adversaries.
Let us suppose that on a fine autumn day we stand upon Durham Terrace, overlooking the St. Lawrence. From the highest point in the Glacis we can see all the points to which the Indians successively removed. At the entrance of the harbor lies the beautiful Island of Orleans, dividing the St. Lawrence into the north and south channels, where the Hurons remained for some years previous to the midnight descent of the Lroquois upon the settlement. Then the persecuted tribe begged for leave to form a village directly under the walls of the French fort, built on the edge of the cliff. Receiv- ing permission, they came into the town, and erected their dwellings a few yards from the spot where we stand, and which is now one of the squares of Quebec, known as the Place d’Armes.
The picturesque parish of Beauport was their next place of refuge, but in a short time they were placed at St. Foye, about eight miles from Quebec.
In 1676, driven by the terror which had haunted all their wanderings, they sought an asylum in a retired spot nearer the mountains—Ancienne Lorette.
After twenty-five years of comparative prosperity, they finally settled at Indian or Jeune Lorette, and formed a pretty village, nestling at the base of the Lau- rentian Mountains, close to the Falls of St. Ambroise.
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The Extinction of a Nation. Ifl
Here it was that the Hurons, as a nation, became ex- tinct. The scenes which witnessed the proudest days of the race, saw also its degradation, its ruin, and finally became its deathbed. Autumn spread its darkening mantle over the scene, a fit emblem, with its sombre vestments, of a dead people.
In the picturesque village of Lorette the remnants of the once great Huron nation now dwell, having passed from under French to English rule after the conquest of 1759. The settlement numbers about three hundred odd souls. The village is much visited by tourists from all parts of Canada and the United States. The houses are arranged in rows, as in an encampment, and in front of the little Indian church stands a cannon, which on great occasions is fired with pride. The boys are always eager to earn pennies by firing at them with a bow and arrow, in the use of which weapon they are very expert. The inhabitants of the village gain a live- lihood by making moccasins, snow-shoes, bart, bead, and other ornaments, and their skill is remarkable. They also act as guides to huntsmen.
About three years ago died Zacharee The-lari-o-lin, a figure well-known around Quebec, and who was the last pure-blooded Indian of the band. He was known as “The last of the Hurons.” All who remain are half- breeds, and speak the French language.
Zacharee’s parents were true Indians, and he came to be a chief of the tribe. He excelled in carving, was skilled in basket and moccasin making, etc., and sold a large amount of his work in the city. He also possessed a remarkable aptitude for drawing, and, had it not been for his failing—his fondness for the “fire water,” the
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112 Sea, Forest and Prairie.
Ph bane alike of the Indian and the white man—would ne have been sent to Rome to study his art by the priests : of the Roman Catholic Church. We have his portrait, done in oils by himself, in the dress of his tribe, paints,
eee nce
feathers, and all the ornaments which possess such a fascination for the heart of an Indian.
Incredible as it may seem, this wholly untaught na- d tive sat before a mirror, and painted his own picture. \ Unfortunately, he was too fond of the “fire-water,” and tl this taste kept him poor in his old age. : p
He died at the Marine Hospital in Quebec, aged 4
about seventy-five years, and with him the great Huron ; C nation may be said to have passed away.
MABEL CLINT.
Quebec.
: le 2 tl
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ould ests rait, ane TALES OF PIONEER LIFE. hoa 7 The sixteenth day of a weary pilgrimage through na- | desolate forests, over trackless snow, in cold and wintry ure, weather, was near its close, as Johnson Taplin crossed and the ice-bound Tomifobia and with weary feet accom- plished the diffictilt ascent of the hill now crowned-— iged after the lapse of ninety years—by Stanstead Wesleyan Aron ; College. He drew his little children on a hand-sled, and was accompanied by his wife carrying a bundle of clothing. Resting at the top of the hill, and taking in with his eagle glance the possibilities and beauties of the landscape, glistening in the last rays of the setting sun, he exclaimed, “We shan’t find a better place than this, Miriam, if we travel all winter.” Clearing away the snow, and collecting some hemlock boughs, they founded, upon the seventh day of March, 1796, the rude beginnings of a home and of the village of Stanstead Plain.
Not long did they enjoy alone this primeval solitude. Soon after Samuel and Selah Pomeroy, with others, left the old Puritan towns of New England, followed the needle of the compass which pointed northward, and founded a name and fame on Canadian soil. With strong, swift axes these brave men battled with the mon- archs of the forests. The hemlock lodges were soon re- placed by log cabins covered with rough shingles, pinned on with wooden pins, nails being then an un- known luxury.
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114 Sea, Forest and Prairie.
But, rude as were all the cabins, a hearty welcome was extended to each new arrival, and the most friendly intercourse was kept up between these strangely isolated families. The house of Samuel Pomeroy became a “rendezvous” and general news depot for the whole county.
It was supposed to be built upon the exact boundary between the United States and Canada, and for the con- venience of debtors and other fugitives from justice a broad chalk mark across the hewn log floor clearly defined the line of separation.
About the time that the eighteenth century glided into the nineteenth, a severe and unexpected snow-stormn completely blocked the forest trails, and many of tlie sturdy settlers who were endeavoring to collect their winter stores, found themselves unable to return to their waiting families. As night drew on many of them gathered, as in a haven of refuge, around the blazing wood fire in Mr. Pomeroy’s house, where they whiled away the tedious hours with reminiscences of pioneer life. ;
Squire Hood told of the painful march of his boy- hood, when, accompanied by his mother, leaving his home in ashes and the dead body of his father lying un- buried beside it, he was carried away captive by the In- dians to the Canadian wilderness. When this story was ended the listeners viewed with horror the cruel sears caused by the blows of his savage captors.
Mr. Johnson, another settler, reached across the hearth-stone to give a sympathetic hand-clasp to the last speaker, for he, too, had been held in captivity by the same bloodthirsty tribe, and had experienced hor-
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Tales of Pioneer Life. 115
rible sufferings from them. His companions and him- self were obliged to gather the fuel needed for their roasting. Bound hand and foot to the stakes, the flames were kindled around them; but, as the fire leaped up upon their bare and quivering flesh cne of their number gave the Masonic sign of distress. Strange to say, the leader of the savage band was a renegade from the Masonic order, and the vows of that mystic brother- hood, still strong upon him, was sufficient to cause him to save their lives, though not to protect them from horrible tortures. Having arrived at the lodges of the tribe on the St. Lawrence River they were made to “run the gauntlet.” In this operation the unhappy captives were driven naked between two rows of In- dians, squaws and pappooses, who beat them unmerci- fully. This was often repeated for the gratification of their fiendish tormentors. At one time they marched nearly forty miles, the Indians allowing them no food save the wild berries and roots which they gathered on the way. Mfr. Johnson exhibited the ends of his fingers, scarred and nailless, which had been burnt to the bone by being held in red-hot pipe bowls. Ransomed at last by the British authorities, they were permitted to re- turn home.
A hush of sadness seemed to settle over the little company after this recital. Indians were still to be found in the vicinity, and even those brave men could hardly fail to tremble at the thought of what might be- fall their unprotected families in their lonely and distant cabins,
Joseph Kilborn, deputy surveyor of Quebec, was the son of one of the neighbors, and had happened in to
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116 Sea, Forest and Prairie.
pass an idle hour. He broke the spell of silence by tell- ing a story which effectually banished the serious thoughts of his hearers. He was at one time survey- ing with Col. George Fitch, near the bay which bears that gentleman’s name. The Colonel proposed to Kil- born a trial of eye-sight for a wager of five gallons of rum for the party. The challenge was accepted, the compass set and sighted. Col. Fitch made the first trial and pointed out a large tree as being the farthest object he could discern.
Kilborn made his trial and admitted that he could see as far but no farther than the tree in question. As the loss of the wager would make a large hole in his slender salary, Kilborn’s quick wit devised a way out of the diffi- culty. He insisted that there should be made an accu- rate measurement of the length of their noses and the distance of their eyes from the compass sight. This was done, and Kilborn, having a very long nose, won the wager by more than half an inch.
After the laugh occasioned by this episode had sub- sided, the Yankee curiosity, which was the inalienable birthright of these men, impelled them to question a quiet young fellow who had taken no part in the conver- sation. So pertinent and searching were the inquiries that they were soon in possession of the following facts. His name was Joseph Bartlett. His father had set out to make a settlement in Barnston in the spring of 1797, before the accumulated snows of that severe winter had melted. His father, an elder sister, and a younger brother, with himself, comprised the party. Wearing snow-shoes, and carrying packs of clothing and furni- ture, they slowly made their way twelve miles from
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) |
Tales of Pioneer Life. 117
Stanstead Plain due east into the unbroken forest. Having cleared a piece of land and planted a small crop, the father was obliged to return to Vermont, where the remainder of his family lived. Before he left he pro- mised his children that he would send them provisions for their sustenance during the summer. He purchased provisions and paid a man in Derby to take them to his cabin, but in this man’s heart dishonesty was stronger than mercy and honor. The provisions were never de- livered, and roots, berries, birch bark, and a few brook trout formed the only sustenance of those three poor children for several months till their father arrived with a supply of food. Almost famished as they had been, the brave children had succeeded in making several hundred weight of “salts of lye” which was the principal commodity of the country, and worth four dollars per hundred weight. In the ensuing winter Mr. Bartlett moved, on hand-sleds, the rernainder of his family and household goods. Two journeys from Stanstead were necessary to complete the removal. The father was as- sisted by the narrator, then but a boy. The first trip was made in comparative comfort ; but on the second the weather became intensely cold, and a pitiless wind obliterating all traces of the path made progress ex- ceedingly slow and painful. Then the poor boy, whose courage had not failed through all the lonely, famish- ing hours of the previous summer, gave up, and, sink- ing down in the cold and drifting snow, begged of his father to go on and leave him. But the father, know- ing that such a ccurse would lead to certain death, de- posited the boy’s load in a safe place in the woods, and, cutting a heech switch, drove his son before him till
il ‘ ; a : } a r 5 ¥ H s
118 Sea, Forest and Prairie.
they reached home. The unfortunate lad fainted on the very threshold of the hut, and many days elapsed before he recovered from the effects of that terrible tramp. The speaker went on to tell of the grim relics found all about their farm, and of the ill-fated expedi- tion of Rogers. That band of brave men started with high hopes of victory from Crown Point, N.Y,, in 1758, to vanquish the St. Francis tribe of Indians. But they were themselves defeated on the spot where the city of Sherbrooke now stands. The shattered remnant es- caped from the cruel tomahawk and from the raging waters of the Magog into the strange and unfriendly wilderness, where, wounded, weary, starving and home- sick, they sank down to die, leaving their fleshless skeletons beside their rusty muskets to tell their sad tale to the awe-stricken settlers coming after them.
Just at this point in the conversation a knock upon the outer door was heard. When it was opened a man stepped into the room. He was of commanding’ stat- ure, but gaunt with weariness and hunger ; his clothes, burnt, torn, and hanging in shreds, illy protected him from the wintry blasts. With many exclamations of surprise and sympathy from the assembled company, he was brought forward to the warmest seat before the glowing fire. Food was quickly prepared and offered him, but he devoured it with scant ceremony. Not until under the genial influence of the surroundings he became thoroughly warmed and fed did he attempt to gratify in any wise the curiosity of his companions. To them he was well known as Simon Kezar, of Hatley, a famous hunter even in those days when every man car- ried a gun on his shoulder and a knife in his belt.
ie
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Tales of Pioneer Life. 119
He had gone forth alone into the trackless forest to explore its dim recesses, and to discover, if possible, the favorite haunts of the moose and the beaver. He took his course easterly to the Coaticook River, then, leav- ing his traps and most of his provisions on a tree in Compton, he went southward towards Island Pond. Soon the severe storm set in, but still he pushed on, hoping to find some friendly settlement ; but nothing but drifting, blinding snow met his gaze. Two days he travelled on without food over snow three feet deep, and at